Protect and Serve: To Honor
by Lasarina
Summary: Lane's story culminates as she and the remaining Fellowship follow their own paths to Gondor. Lane finally thinks she has a shot at the happiness she's never before experienced, but choices are yet to be made if she ever wants a taste of it. Will she be allowed to stay in Middle-earth, or will she even be given a choice?
1. The Story of Who I Am

**Chapter 1: The Story of Who I Am**

There was no chance to talk as we rode across the plains. Gandalf and Shadowfax set a demanding pace, and I could only do my best to stay in the saddle and keep urging Lightfoot on.

Through the night and all the next day we rode, Pippin dozing in the saddle and me struggling not to. But as the next night fell, I could see the golden roof of Meduseld coming into sight.

"We shall stop to rest the night here," Gandalf proclaimed. "Shadowfax has yet more to give, but we cannot overtire either of our mounts before we reach our destination."

Lightfoot was a testament to the fine breeding of Rohirric horses. He was flagging a bit compared to Shadowfax, but he'd covered the distance well. Better than I had. My body ached in places I hadn't known could ache. Even my hair seemed to ache.

We both dismounted in the stables, Gandalf having to first rouse Pippin, and turned our mounts over to the eager stable boys surprisingly still awake at this hour.

"I'll take your horse, sir," a young boy offered, skidding to a stop in front of me.

My words came out choked as I fought a laugh and held out Lightfoot's reins. "Sure. Here ya go."

The whites of his eyes enlarged as he gaped at my face, his head upturned in shock as he beheld a woman instead of a man.

"'S'cuse me," he murmured, finding his voice. "I didn't realize you were a lady. Why are you dressed like a man?" The words must have slipped out because he immediately seemed horrified.

I let out a snort as I walked away, tousling the boy's hair as I went. "Don't know what everyone's got against women wearing pants. Helluva lot more comfortable than all those damned skirts."

Gandalf gave me an odd look as I approached him, but seemed to almost visibly shake it off.

"Male children of the Rohirrim take turns staying with their horses through the night to guard them," Gandalf explained to my curious glances at the boys gathering to peer eagerly at us.

I left with one lingering look at the boys now hustling about. The logistics of protecting so precious a commodity couldn't be argued with, so I pushed it from my mind. The young boys of my own world would likely have benefitted from such responsibilities instead of being allowed to waste their youths with TVs and video games.

Even at so late an hour, we were greeted at the steps of Meduseld by the regal visage of Éowyn. Her summer-wheat locks glistening down her back, and her sword gleaming on her hip.

The dichotomy of her image gave me pause as I mounted the stairs. So soft and fair. Yet hard and lethal at need. I could see what would be the appeal in Faramir's eye. The feminine comfort. The warrior strength.

And I wondered again what Legolas saw in me. Ellith were the epitome graceful feminine beauty. Any beauty I might once have had was fading and creasing with age. And what hadn't, I'd fought and beaten down until it was hardened to more useful masculinity.

I stared at my hand, now scarred and calloused. From use and abuse. Telling the story of who I was. And how I'd gotten there.

They weren't the soft hands of an elleth. I doubted even so soft as Éowyn's slender appendages. Hers were soft but capable. Mine were only capable. No softness left in them. No happy balance between the two extremes.

"Lady Elaina? Elaina? Lane? Lane!" As Éowyn repeated my name, I tore my gaze from examining my calloused hand and fingers. "Are you unwell?" she asked stepping closer and lightly touching my arm.

I forced a reassuring smile, tearing my sluggish mind from thoughts I knew I shouldn't dwell on when I was so tired in the first. "Yeah, I'm fine. My mind wanders to strange places when I'm exhausted."

Her smile was sympathetic if a little curious. "Well I can imagine. Come," she told me, gently guiding me by the arm, "I should imagine you would appreciate some of the cleaner comforts I can offer."

I looked down at myself as she led me away from the main hall Gandalf and Pippin were headed down, and let out a loud guffaw at the sight of the black and red blood crusted on my clothes. "I guess that's your way of saying I'm filthy and in need of a bath."

Her cheeks tinged pink. "I had only thought you might enjoy a warm bath before your rest and to have your clothes laundered before morn."

"Relax," I chuckled, "I'm not mad. And I'd love a bath. But I'm not sure there'll be time to wash those clothes. I'm betting Gandalf'll wanna leave at the crack of dawn."

She negated the matter with an elegant swish of her hand. "It is no matter. I shall ask one of the servants to dry the clothes over the fire," she responded.

Éowyn soon led me into a spartan, but elegantly decorated set of rooms. She gestured to a tub behind a partition of screens, obviously freshly filled from the sight of the steam still rising in the cool room.

"I wouldn't want to intrude on your space, my lady. If you've drawn a bath for yourself, I can find sleep elsewhere."

She glanced at the tub and smiled beneficently. "Nay, 'twas drawn for your use. When the guards at the gate sent word of your arrival, I ordered it filled. 'Tis the least I can do to atone for the poor hospitality you received upon your last visit."

Her guilt was genuine and palpable, even of it wasn't her fault, so I decided to take her offer if it would assuage some of her guilt. Though truthfully, I also rarely turned down a chance to get clean. I could carry on for as long as it took in my filthy clothes, but I really did prefer not to.

Dropping my bag and weapons one by one by the wooden chair behind the partition, I then started peeling out of my blood-crusted clothes. One glance over my shoulder as I started removing my tunic revealed Éowyn still waiting near the opening of the partition.

"I had thought to check the state of the wounds I stitched when you were brought to Edoras," she explained.

Again, I shrugged. She'd obviously seen me in some state of undress to stitch me up, so I didn't hesitate to finish shimmying out of my clothes and a few of the bandages yet remaining on my arms and sliding into the warm tub. Biting back a groan of near ecstasy at the warm water enveloping my body, I held my arms out for my own inspection. The stitches Éowyn had done were neat and evenly placed. But as I looked at them, I could feel the skin around them beginning to itch.

"If you have some small scissors, I think these stitches are healed well enough to come out now."

She came closer and knelt beside the tub, taking my nearest arm and drawing it into her grasp to examine it. "Yes," she exclaimed, surprise coloring the word, "it would appear these stitches are ready to be removed. I should have hardly thought such wounds would have so swiftly healed." She released my arm and looked up into my face. "Are you one of the Dúnedain to have the ancient Númenórean blood in your veins?"

"No," I answered with a gentle shake of my head. "But something like that I guess. Descended from another ancient line that lends a bit of speed to my healing." Although nothing like the speed of healing for my Fae ancestors. Even wounds like mine made by pure iron would not have taken so long for a fairy to heal. Of course, further internal damage done by iron would take a fairy longer to heal from than a human would. Bur flesh wounds like mine would have seemed superficial to them. My own healing was only slightly accelerated from a normal human's. But it had still mostly served me well, only failing me when I was held captive in North Korea and too badly injured and too starved to expend any energy on accelerated healing.

Éowyn left briefly, carrying away my dirty clothes and returning with a small scissors to begin removing the many stitches. I'd sluiced the water and a cake of soap over myself as Éowyn worked, noticing many of my bruises were shifting to mottled colors of sickly yellows and greens, and fighting sleep as I turned my head to the side, letting her remove the stitches from my head as well.

I must have dozed off for a few moments, for the next thing I was aware of was Éowyn removing the soapy washcloth from my hand and gingerly shaking me.

With a smile of appreciation, I stood and accepted the sheet she held out for me to dry off with.

"I am in hopes you do not mind sharing my quarters for the night, Lane. The rooming of Meduseld is stretched thin with the influx of refugees from the Westfold while many of the soldiers left in Edoras are sleeping in the Great Hall. I thought you might prefer a night of privacy from the menfolk and a soft bed, though I have but one to offer," she explained, holding a cotton shift out to me, her eyes fixed steadily on her hands.

I gratefully took the sleeveless nightgown, pleased by her simple use of my nickname, and watched her downturned face as her eyes shyly avoided mine. It struck me then how truly young she seemed. Though she had been forced to mature early and embrace her place among her people, likely leading and commanding them behind the scenes more than her uncle knew in his decline, she was in fact still quite young. Perhaps sixteen or seventeen by my estimation. No doubt a woman to her people, but still with that flush of youth.

"I would be honored that you'd share your quarters with me," I gently offered, pleased by the childlike light and delight in her eyes.

Following her around the partition, I watched as she grabbed extra bedding out of a trunk at the foot of her bed. Seeing no cot or other bed, I stalled her movements, realizing her intentions.

"We're both grown women, Éowyn. We can share the bed. No sense in you sleeping what's left of the night on hard stone."

She seemed demure, but pleasantly surprised at my words. "If you have no objection to such an arrangement neither do I." She snuffed several lanterns around the room, leaving only a candle by the bed lit and climbing into the bed near the wall.

As I slid in next to her, I was glad she'd taken the space near the wall, leaving me the side of the bed easiest to escape from. Not that I feared I'd need escape—some things were just seared into my Marine mind.

After I'd blown out the candle, we laid in the roughly full-sized bed in silence. Éowyn was still and quiet, her breathing shallow so that I'd have thought her asleep but for the gentle buzz of her thoughts. Thankfully, most of Edoras was asleep so her thoughts did not prove too difficult to avoid.

"How went the battle at the Deep?" her voice suddenly questioned in the dark.

I rolled over to face her inquisitive stare. The soft moonlight spilling into her room must have highlighted the question in my expression for she clarified. "I have received word from my mother-brother of course, but 'tis just simple words saying the battle was won and listing our losses. I meant, what was it like to fight in such glory?"

The awestruck hero-worship in her words was heavy on my heart. I knew she needed to ride to the Pelennor Fields believing the only glory or fate she could ever find was to fight and die greatly in battle. But my heart knew battle wasn't glorious. And it was no great fate.

"I lived. And so many didn't. Boys too young to ever know all the wonders that life should have in store for them: friendships, loves, marriages, children. And wizened men too old to recall such wonders. There's nothing truly so glorious about battle. And old warriors who speak of it are too tormented by what they've seen and done to admit they can never again attain the purity of those simple wonders in life. I am proud of my accomplishments as a warrior, Éowyn, and I wouldn't take bake the sacrifices I've made so others didn't have to, but some days, I wish I'd never started down the path that hardened me into this woman."

She was silent after I'd spoken, and I almost hoped she'd heard my words.

"I think to die in such a battle that the people would sing of it for ages to come would be a great honor," she timidly, but resolutely whispered.

"The people of the highest honor are the ones who lead quiet existences, loudly singing the tales of those who never were granted their quiet peaceful lives. We sing tales and tell stories of the tragic lives, not the truly blessed ones," I answered.

She had no response to my words, but I knew in my heart that she wouldn't understand until it was too late.

* * *

"Hello?" I cautiously called to the void.

_Am I somehow back in my hole in that North Korean cave? No. There was some residual light there. This is utter darkness. Absolute absence of light. _

I'd been in a few caves in my youth with absolute darkness like this. So far under ground that not the tiniest bit of light penetrated it. It was rare to experience such blackness in my modern world. If it wasn't artificial light brightening the night, it was the moon or stars aiding human sight. But this? This was a rare experience for most. Utter blackness.

Yet, this was worse than the utter blackness of those caves. This embodied more than darkness to my sight. This was utter darkness to my senses and my soul. Oppressive. And crushing.

And a sensation I'd felt once before.

"Námo! Or whatever the hell your name is, get the hell out here! You know I don't like the whole talking to a disembodied voice thing anyway. And what the hell did I do to piss you off again? I haven't tried to save anyone who was supposed to live. That I know of," I added under my breath. I knew I was likely rambling, but my nervousness at the oppressive dark made my tongue hard to hold.

Light suddenly illuminated everything around me, highlighting the scene before me. A cozy, snug cabin seemed to be my surroundings. Though how I'd gotten there, I couldn't say.

"Wait a minute. I'll be damned, is this—" but I trailed off, not knowing how to finish my question.

"This is the home you were born to. Though faint to your recall, a small part of your memory recognizes this place as the only home you knew."

I turned towards the corner of the room by the window where the alto voice called from. Seated in an old, careworn looking rocking chair, was the figure of a woman. Faced away from me, and busily bent over something.

"You're not Námo." Though I'd meant it as a statement, it instead seemed to come out uncertainly.

"How do you know?" she asked curiously, not looking up as I began painstakingly inching closer around to in front of the figure.

"You don't feel like him." At the curious noise she made, I elaborated, feeling more certain that this wasn't Námo. "You don't feel so pissed off and angry." Wanting to bite my impetuous tongue off, I corrected myself. "I mean, you don't seem so dark or foreboding. Friendlier somehow. Though still with the undercurrent of oppressive power."

She seemed amused by my assessment, and though I still couldn't see the face beneath the dark auburn curls falling forward over her shoulders, I could see a flash of one corner of her lips curling upwards. "You are bold in your words. I can see why my husband bears a grudging fondness for your plight," she chuckled lowly, her fingers continuing to busily work. I could see now she was seated at something with her hands busily moving yarn or some other kind of threading.

"Your husband?" I queried in confusion.

"My lord husband," she absently spoke, her hands backing up a weave and restarting, the threads seeming to change colors in her hands as she continued again. "Námo, the Lord of the Halls of Mandos."

"Oh?" I repeated, straining to hide my shock, I didn't remember really reading about the Valar too much though I _had _vaguely remembered Mandos. "I didn't realize Death was married." My tardy mind finally supplied what she was seated at: a loom. She was weaving something. Something long.

Now she did pause to glance up at me. "He is the Judge of the Dead and Master of Doom. He is not this Death you speak of. He is much more," she patiently explained.

"Mom?" I exclaimed, taking a shocked step back.

The woman gave a soft smile as her fingers began their dance again and her eyes returned to her work. "Nay, I am not your lady mother, merely borrowing her form as your mind so chooses."

"Then who the hell are you?" I asked, fighting the need to look away from my long-dead mother's visage.

"I am Vairë. The Weaver," she almost carelessly answered as she backtracked a weave before beginning again.

"The Weaver? I'm guessing you're a Vala too if your husband's one and you're using my mother's image. But why the hell do the Valar need a weaver? You don't have physical bodies, right? So why do you need cloth?"

She chuckled lightly again. "You misunderstand my purpose. I weave not cloth, but tapestries. The tapestries of the world, telling its tale."

I stood dumbfounded. She was right, I still doubted I understood.

She paused and gestured to the mound of cloth sitting on the other side of the loom. The tapestry that she had already finished. "This is the past. The tale of Arda as it occurred." She gestured back to the section she was currently working on at the loom. "And this is the present, that tale which is now being written. I am the Weaver. The Keeper of Arda's Tale."

I mulled over her words, watching her elegant hands gliding through the threads as she wove them. It was easier watching her hands than watching my mother's face.

"So I'm guessing if you're the one recording history and minding fate, you're just as pissed at me as Námo was," I speculated.

She laughed again. "Nay, I am not displeased with you. I understand my lord husband's ire at your machinations, but my dominion is not his. He worries for the order and procession of those souls destined for his halls, but he does not have the scope of sight that I am granted by my position. None of the other Lords or Queens of the Valar sees things as I. You may not have been meant for this world before, but you have cast your ripples in it now."

I waited for her to continue and finally prompted, "What do you mean? I've done my best not to change this world. But unless I go find a mountain to live like a hermit on, it's not possible. Even without trying, I've changed things. Maybe I should try to change some things for the better."

She gestured to the mounds of tapestry again. "Aye, you have changed things, child. Since your entrance unto the plane of Arda, I have been forced to change and reweave my tapestries, as I have not found cause to do since I first began to record Arda's Tale. For ages I have weaved without being forced to go back, yet now I find myself often reweaving a tale. If only small pieces of it," she replied. She didn't seem all that upset by my changing things, her smile was small but wistful, so I began to relax, thinking she understood that perhaps some things should be changed.

"Nay, 'tis not what I mean," she replied with a shake of her head, seeming to hear my very thoughts. "It is unavoidable to change some of this world's fates by your presence and perhaps those things were intended to be as they now are, but to set out to purposefully change fates in Arda would be a perilous mistake."

I stiffened and turned away from my mother's image, standing at the rough-hewn window in the log wall, seeing the same green hills that this window had shown in my vague childhood memory.

"So you _are _here to give the same warnings and threats Námo did. Don't change things or else," I responded.

She answered to my back. "Heed my advice as you will."

"But what about the hobbits and the others. I've already changed things by getting close to them and knowing them. Are you saying I can't be with him?"

She didn't need me to say whom I'd meant.

"As I told, I am the Weaver. As such, I see more than the other of the Valar do. Námo spoke truly when he said you were not meant to end the life you were given in our world. You must be returned to finish this life in the world you were born to. You cannot begin anew while one story remains unfinished. Balance must be restored."

I twirled to face her. "So you're saying I'll be sent back to my own world? Now that I want so desperately to stay here?"

"Your ending must be written in your world," she steadfastly answered, pausing her weaving again.

"That's bullshit! I want to stay here though. Can't I at least live out my days here and return to my world when my life is finally spent," I pleaded.

One brow delicately climbed her forehead. "You presume much to think you should be given so many years here in Arda before your withered days. You also presume much to assume you shall not be slain in battle before such an end."

"Granted," I conceded. "I'm the first to admit the perils of battle. But I've got no home to return to. No place I belong. No people I belong to. For the first time in my life, I'm happy here."

Her face softened. "None of the Valar is callous to your plight. And I confess to being compassionate to your quandary myself." She picked up a part of the tapestry, and let her fingers trail across an odd section that was frayed and raised with small bumps. "The parts of the tapestry that fit difficultly with the rest are those I hold dearest in my heart. They are perhaps not perfect as how the rest of the tapestry fits together, but I find the pieces that are unusual more intriguing than the others are. They have many difficulties finding their own places. All of the Valar understand this. We are few while the First and Second Born are many. They have their own communities and populaces with which they belong. It is as it should be. Eru Ilúvatar made all things to live in harmony and in kinship. In the end, you will travel peacefully to where you may at the very least find tranquility, if not kinship."

"So I get no choice. No say. I'm just going to be sent back to my world, where I guarantee you, I won't find peace or tranquility," I ground out.

She smiled sympathetically, but gave me no words of advice.

"Isn't there anything I can do to stay here?" I pleaded. Now that I had found even a sliver of happiness, I wanted to hold on to it with both hands. And maybe all ten toes.

She stepped away from her loom, for the first time stepping closer as she reached out and placed a hand over my own clasped ones. "To gain what you wish most, you _must _let go first. Choices are yet before you to be made. Choose judiciously, and you may reap the end you so desire. But be forewarned, the words spoken by Artanis, the one you know as the Lady of Lórien, were spoken truly. If there be even the faintest of hopes for you to gain your wishes, you must first pass through the flames."

Her smile turned sad as her other hand reached to lightly touch my cheek with her fingertips. "I will not lie; I do not wish to see you so suffer in such a choice. When the time comes for you to be returned to your own world, I pray you choose to remain happy in your own world. Do not choose the path through flames. You can be as you were before in your world. You can be satisfied and help the humans there."

She bent forward and gently kissed my cheek, whispering against my skin, "Choose well, Elaina Rowan of Loughill."

And then, darkness descended once more.

* * *

I awoke to nearly blackness. Yet I knew it wasn't the utter dark I'd been emerged in in my sleep.

And I also knew, despite Vairë's words, I could never return to my world and again settle for my "satisfactory" life. I'd tasted such sweetness here. And like the moth to the flame, I would stay to keep dancing with that magnificent warmth and light, even at the cost of my downfall. Moths knew the secret, the reward of that dance, was worth the price of destruction.

* * *

It was not yet even brightening to a gray sky yet, but I doubted I'd sleep any longer. And I knew Gandalf would want to leave as soon as the sky was showing any hint of light.

I glanced to Éowyn laying on my right side, and was surprised by how closely she'd moved as I slept. She'd curled into me, her face pressed against my shoulder and her hands wrapped around my upper arm. She looked even younger than she had before. And I imagined many young children wrapped around their mother's arms like this as they slept.

But like me, Éowyn had lost her mother at such an early age. And like me, I doubted she'd ever had any one to replace her mother in simple matters like offering a comforting touch or presence. It was a simple thing that men did not understand a child's need of. Though I was certain Théoden had done the best he could in raising his sister's children.

Moving with care, I pulled my arm out of Éowyn's embrace and slid from the bed. My clothes were miraculously cleaned and dry on a table just inside the door, so I slid into those clothes again, rather than dirty or stain the extra shirt or pants in my pack. Éowyn never moved or woke as I quietly changed and again donned my weapons and cloak. Even as I carefully closed her bedroom door, she never twitched.

As I rounded the corner into the Great Hall, I marveled at how much the bath and a bit of sleep in a bed had helped my aching body, and lost in my thoughts, I nearly ran into Gandalf's imposing white robed form.

"You are awake, that is well. We should be off. We have yet much ground to cover," Gandalf whispered, his voice low in consideration of those still sleeping in the Great Hall.

I shrugged. "Sure. I'm ready to be off."

Gandalf turned and I glimpsed Pippin's trudging form following behind him.

Tousling his hair, I pulled him close as he rubbed his eyes and whispered to him, "Still tired, huh? Well, it's gonna be a long ride yet. Best get what sleep you can while we ride."

"Don't understand why we have to go so early," Pippin grumbled.

I laughed softly. "It's the best time to leave for a trip, Pip. Before everyone's awake to slow you down by trying to talk to you and get in your way."

Pippin continued grumbling as we made our way back out to the stables.

"Stop your bellyaching young Peregrin Took. It was your own actions that brought you here," Gandalf admonished gruffly as we entered the stables, causing the boys there to spring up at our unexpected entrance.

"Jesh, Gandalf, lighten up. Pip's just tired and not used to this kind of hard traveling. If he wants to grumble a little, let him."

The wizard turned and rounded on me. "It is by your own actions that you are here as well. You should not be here any more than the young hobbit. Do not speak out of turn."

Gandalf bypassed the young boy trying to hustle into Shadowfax's stall, and I did likewise, stepping into Lightfoot's stall to ready him myself rather than leaving him to one of the boys to saddle.

"I'm getting sick and tired of the high and mighty of Middle-earth constantly running around telling me what I should and shouldn't do and where I should and shouldn't be. Think because they're a wizard or some high and mighty Vala they automatically know everything," I grumbled as I finished pulling my cinch tight.

"Vala?" Gandalf repeated behind me. "What is this talk of the Valar?"

I twirled to face him. "Damn wizards," I gasped. "Have to put a bell on you if you're gonna keep sneaking around like that."

One white brow arched. "The Valar?" he prompted.

I turned back to my horse again and fastened my pack across the front swells of the war saddle on Lightfoot's back and slipping his bridle on. The seat of the saddle was over-large, made for a Rohirrim man in armor, so more than large enough to accommodate my pack and myself.

"Yeah, damn Valar keep butting into my mind when I'm sleeping or knocked out and telling me what I can and can't do. And what's with them waiting until I'm asleep or knocked out to waltz around in my mind?" I questioned, turning to face the wizard again, leading Lightfoot forward with rein in hand.

Gandalf looked surprised at my question. "The Valar oft choose to appear to a mortal in their dreams as it is easier on their fragile minds," he replied offhandedly, not moving as I walked up to him, where he blocked my path. "How often have the Valar appeared to you?"

I shrugged. "Twice, I guess."

"And what pray tell, did they speak of with you?" he pressed.

"None of your business. They were just trying to tell me how I shouldn't change fate and such."

He looked away for a moment and then nodded and moved out of the doorway to the stall.

The young Rohirric boys stood around nearly wringing their hands, obviously upset that we hadn't allowed them to perform their duties.

"Keep your shirts on. I'm sure you'll have plenty of other work to do," I told them as I walked out into the cool air.

Gandalf rode up beside me, Pippin already dozing upon Shadowfax in front of the wizard. I swung into my own saddle, loath to allow anyone such height advantage over me.

"Well, let's get on to Gondor," I told the wizard. "Neither of us is getting any younger."

But Gandalf didn't move and instead seemed to be sizing me up. "Your manner is nearly as gruff as when you first came into this world."

I bristled. "So? I've always been a woman in a man's world. Being soft doesn't get you anywhere."

The wizard shook his head. "Nay, you had softened much in the time since my fall, and much you had gained. You need not return to your gruff ways to cover the hurt in your heart."

I looked away to the southwest and what our path to Minas Tirith would be. "Other women may think bellyaching about their hurts and upsets will make it better, but I know it doesn't do a damn thing. The hurt will still be there. Best to bury it in work." I turned back towards the wizard. "We've got a lot of ground to cover to get to our destination. We'd best get moving."

And thankfully, the wizard pressed no more. And on we silently rode.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, here's the first chapter of the last book. It wasn't as long as I'd intended, but it seemed like a natural place to stop before getting into the chapter with their entrance into Gondor and the White City.

Thanks again to everyone for adding these stories to their favorites and alerts, and thanks a bunch more to everyone for taking a moment to leave a review.

Keep letting me know what you guys think!


	2. Greater Men

**Chapter 2: Greater Men**

Time again seemed to pass unheralded. I knew there were many things swirling in my mind that I should be using my excess of time to go over, but they were things I feared dwelling on. Things I feared couldn't be changed no matter how many times I turned them over in my head.

_Was there truly such a thing as fate? And if so, was it truly my fate that I had to go back to my own world?_

_It wasn't fair; none of it was fair. _

I glanced down at the spider web of scars crisscrossing the exposed flesh of my hand. And they weren't near the worst.

_No, I know better than most that people rarely get what's right or fair, but dammit, haven't I given enough? Haven't I bled enough? When is it my turn to get what I want? What I need._

_No, life isn't fair. True enough. But to hell with _fate, _I don't give a damn about what gods, Valar, or anyone or anything else says has to be. I'll write my own fate. _

But that niggling fear remained. Could anyone really write their own fate?

"Where are we, Gandalf?" Pippin asked, his fearful voice still shaking off the remnants of his slumber.

The wizard answered almost absently as he allowed Shadowfax to slow to a walk, also allowing my own mount to draw abreast of him. "In the realm of Gondor, the land of Anórien is still passing by."

Pippin was gazing around at our surroundings when he suddenly gasped and pointed high into the mountains. "What is that?" he cried. "Look! Fire, red fire! Are there dragons in this land? Look, there is another!"

Gandalf drew in a sharp breath, leaning over the neck of his stead and urging him onward even as his words carried back to me. "On, Shadowfax! We must hasten. Time is short. See! The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is kindled. See, there is the fire on Amon Dîn, and flame on Eilenach; and there go speeding west: Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhad, and Halifirien on the borders of Rohan."

As soon as Gandalf had begun urging Shadowfax on, I had leaned over Lightfoot and done likewise, surprised by how revived he seemed by even so short a reprieve. Rohan would soon be amassing her army for war in her neighbor's land. But I knew most of my friends would soon be headed on another path to Gondor.

Gandalf spoke as we rode about the history of the beacons to call for aid from neighboring lands, but I listened little, trying to concentrate on keeping myself awake and aware of our surroundings.

After a day spent sleeping restlessly on the hard earth, and then some hours passed again tiredly in the saddle, my mind caught the tenor of human thoughts getting nearer. Soon the thoughts swelled and I realized we were approaching a great mass of humans. Looking around I noticed Shadowfax's ears and head held aloft at attention as he seemed to notice something as well, though our surroundings were so greatly shrouded by the mist.

"We're approaching Minas Tirith," I told Gandalf, guessing from the sheer volume of human thoughts, many seeming harried and fearful.

Gandalf once again motioned for a halt, and I waited beside him as he stared at me, his eyes seeming to search for an answer.

"Pull your hood up," he finally directed. "The fog is thick, but we will soon be approaching the walls at the edges of the Fields of Pelennor."

He seemed to stiffen and brace himself for my ire at his words, but I shrugged and slowly pulled my hood forward. I did however look at Gandalf curiously, wondering at his directive. His thoughts had always been utterly silent to me. For which I found merciful. I couldn't imagine what would be in the thoughts of a wizard.

Finally, as I followed his orders, he relaxed and answered my inquisitive look. "I know not how the men of Gondor shall react to the sight of a woman so girded for battle. But I doubt very much it shall be favorably. Elves and dwarves are not as man, and even among the Rohirrim, they at least are not unfamiliar with the sight of a woman wielding a blade. I fear you shall meet much more resistance among the Gondorians who tightly cosset their wives and daughters. A woman outfitted for war shall likely be quite abhorrent to their sensibilities. Gondorians are more rigid in their views of the roles of men and women."

I pulled the hood lower, hoping I would indeed pass as a lean or slight built man. I certainly had none of the bulk of a Rohirric man, but perhaps Gondorian men were leaner.

And shorter.

"It's no problem," I told Gandalf. "My country considered our women to be very liberated, but I've served in countries far more backwards than I understand Gondor to be. As you said, their merely rigid in their views. I can handle that. Even as liberated as my country was, our military did its best to ensure that the uniforms for women were designed to as best as possible disguise a woman's figure so she looked as much like a man as possible." And working as a scout in Middle Eastern countries meant I'd also dressed purposefully in men's clothing a number of times to blend in, although, the niqabs worn to cover a woman's face in Muslim countries could be quite useful too, as I well knew.

We continued forward at a walk, the sounds of men talking and the busy fervor of construction noise growing as we went. Soon, the breeze picked up a bit, blowing some of the mist clear and revealing the wall Gandalf had spoken of. We rode forward to several men who had the air of being in charge, but I kept as quiet and still as Pippin was, still asleep atop of Shadowfax, as Gandalf spoke to the men. I instead carefully looked out from under my hood at the array of men busily working on repairing the wall.

It was strange to again be surrounded but so many pressing thoughts in a language I spoke. I still had no understanding myself for how I came to understand Westron as I did, for I had thought it was supposed to have very clearly been a different language from English. But I'd decided many months ago not to question how it was possible any more so than how my bloodline lent me the understanding of my father's language, Silva.

For so many months, I had been surrounded by those who thought in the languages of elves, dwarves, and even the hobbits apparently had their own language. In Rohan, the human thoughts and emotions had been as pressing as human thoughts had been all my life, but I hadn't understood any Rohirric to know their words. Here, it was achingly familiar. Thoughts and emotions blasting in my mind as men hurried about, thoughts lingering passingly on their wives and families as they went about their assignments.

Yet, they had such an air of haste about them. Worry that the wall would not be able to adequately withstand the battle these men knew without doubt was coming. I admired their determination to sweat each moment until the battle was nigh, trying to finish their task, but I also wondered to myself just how much of their work was soon to be undone by the onslaught Mordor's forces would soon unleash.

"Yea truly, we know you, Mithrandir," one of the men said to Gandalf, bringing my attention away from the men busily working at the wall. "And you know the pass-words of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward. But we do not know your companions. What is this one? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North? And what of your lean, silent companion? We wish for no strangers in the land at this time, unless the be mighty men of arm in whose faith and help we can trust."

I hastily threw a barrier up in my mind to shut the distracting thoughts out, and listened intently to Gandalf's reply.

"I will vouch for them before the seat of Denethor," Gandalf answered with a sweeping gesture to encompass both Pippin and me. "And as for valor, that cannot be computed by stature nor speech. They have passed through more battles and perils than you have, Ingold, though you be twice the height and twice as verbose; and they come now from the storming of Isengard and the battle at Helm's Deep, of which we bear tidings, and great weariness is on this one in particular, or I would wake him. His name is Peregrin, a very valiant man, and my other companion is called Lane, a traveler from the North."

"Man?" Ingold replied with dubious glance at Pippin, and then turned to study me.

Thankfully, Pippin chose that moment to awake and loudly proclaim offense at Gandalf's words.

"Man!" he groused, "Man! Indeed not! I am a hobbit and no more valiant than I am a man, save perhaps now and again by necessity. Do not let Gandalf deceive you!"

Ingold seemed unsure whether to be impressed by Pippin's bold outburst or to find humor in it. "Many a doer of great deeds might say no more," he finally responded, his attention blessedly diverted from me. "But what is a hobbit?"

"A Halfling," Gandalf added. "Nay, not the one that was spoken of. Not he, yet one of his kindred."

"Yes, and one who journeyed with him," Pippin tacked on. "And Boromir of your City was with us, and he saved me in the snows of the North, and at the last he was slain standing by Lane's side, defending me from many foes."

"Peace!" Gandalf shushed. "The news of that grief should have been told first to the father."

Ingold looked back at me with interest again at Pippin's inclusion of me in the tale, and I wish I had been close enough to discreetly chuck the young hobbit in the back of the head for speaking.

"It has been guessed already," Ingold answered, his gaze lingering on me. "For there have been strange portents here of late. But pass on now quickly! For the Lord of Minas Tirith will be eager to see any that bear the latest tidings of his son from those who witnessed his fall, be he man or-"

"Hobbit," Pippin interjected. "Little service can I offer to your lord, but what I can do, I would do, remembering Boromir the brave."

Ingold drew closer as we attempted to ride by, snagging a rein and stopping me as he peered up, trying to see past the shadow of my hood. "And what of you, the silent companion from the North, with a strange bearing and a strange name. You bore witness to the fall of the beloved Boromir but add naught to the tale. Where at least do you hail from?"

I looked down into the dark eyes fringed by equally dark hair and spoke quietly, letting my voice deepen and gravel to hide my nature. "I am a traveler. I hail from wherever I happen to be."

Gently urging my horse on, I moved past Ingold, who had no choice but to let me or create a scene.

"Fare you well!" he called out to us. "May you bring good counsel to Denethor in his need, and to us all, Mithrandir! But you come with tidings of grief and danger, as is your wont, they say."

"Because I come seldom but when my help is needed," Gandalf called back. "And as for counsel, to you I would say that you are over-late in repairing the wall of the Pelennor. Courage will now be your best defense against the storm that is at hand-that and such hope as I bring. For not all the tidings that I bring are evil. But leave your trowels and sharpen your swords!"

Though I held my tongue, I couldn't find any fault in Gandalf's words. I too very much doubted how long their hard efforts would last.

"The work will be finished ere evening," Ingold answered with a shake of his head. "This is the last portion of the wall to be put in defense: the least open to attack, for it looks towards our friends of Rohan. Do you know aught of them? Will they answer the summons, think you?"

"Yes, they will come. But they have fought many battles at your back. This road and no road looks towards safety any longer. Be vigilant! But for Gandalf Stormcrow you would have seen a host of foes coming out of Anórien and no Riders of Rohan. And you may yet. Fare you well, and sleep not!"

As we rode away, I could sense the disheartenment of the men, yet their resolve remained steadfast. Even against the words of a wizard, they would complete their appointed task as they could before the onslaught began. Having been a Marine, I could appreciate their resolve to follow orders even in the face of their own doubts.

* * *

Our horses were left at the gate of the Citadel, and we were admitted without a word. An aura of heavy stillness and apprehension filled the air as we walked to the Citadel. Guards were scattered around the area, surrounding the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree stood withered.

Pippin and I both paused at the sight of the decaying tree, wondering at the beauty it once must have beheld, but Gandalf soon sent us a hurried wave, signaling for us to catch up with him.

We passed the silent door-wardens and finally Gandalf spoke quiet words of warning. "Be careful of your words, Master Peregrin! This is no time for hobbit pertness. Théoden is a kindly old man. Denethor is another sort, proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage and power, though he is not called a king. But he will speak most to you, and question you much, since you can tell him of his son Boromir. He loved him greatly; too much perhaps; and the more so because they were unlike. But under covers of this love he will think it easier to learn what he wishes from you rather than from me. Do not tell him more than you need, and leave quiet the matter of Frodo's errand. I will deal with that in due time. And say nothing about Aragorn either, unless you must."

"Why not? What is wrong with Strider?" Pippin whispered. "He meant to come here, didn't he? And he'll be arriving soon himself, anyway."

"Maybe, maybe," Gandalf answered. "Though if he comes, it is likely to be in some way that no one expects, not even Denethor. It will be better so. At least he should come unheralded by us."

Now the wizard stopped and gave me a once over. I could see him struggling with what to say to me.

"Perhaps it's best if I hang back and try not to draw any notice to myself," I offered. "With my hood up and if I can get by with saying only a couple of words at a time, I should still be able to pass myself off as a man, but if I'm forced to say too much, I fear I shall reveal myself."

He nodded, looking relieved. "Yes, perhaps that is for the best, though I cannot say if it shall be enough."

Pippin looked back and forth between us, looking like he was about to ask what we were talking about, but Gandalf started forward, again giving Pippin more advice. "See, Master Pippin, there is no time to instruct you now in the history of Gondor-"

My ears shut out the rest of Gandalf words to Pippin as I began looking about the passageway we traversed. Faded tapestries and age-dulled paintings lined our way. I would have liked to have had the time to stop and admire the old works, but as it was, I too was forced to hurry after Gandalf and only caught the passing impression of scenes of past great battles.

Finally, we entered the door to the Great Hall. I stepped to the side and waited just inside the great door, watching as Gandalf and Pippin advanced down the hall towards a figure seated in a stone chair. I glanced at the old man staring at the white rod and another object in his lap, but quickly turned my attention away to survey the Great Hall. I knew as I looked away, just what I'd glimpsed in his lap. The cloven Horn of Gondor.

The hall was a marvel of stonework and masonry. Marble and stone statues and carvings littered the hall, effortlessly walking the fine line between cluttered and tastefully adorned. Even the monoliths towered in elegantly carved black marble. The floor was made of glistening polished white stone, elegantly offsetting the darkness of the black columns.

Unlike the passageway we'd left, the hall bore no artwork of tapestries or oil paintings. Instead, it was a study in the mastery of stone. And though statuary had never been my own favored medium of art, I couldn't deny the elegant pull of the stone-adorned hall. Well-rendered paintings could transport a viewer into the scene, rendering emotion and giving the feel of presence in the piece.

But the statuary here was altogether different. Instead of portraying a scene and its emotion, these statues captured a moment for all time. And an image of all that had been to form that culmination. I stepped closer to one of the statues, examining the lines etched into the face it rendered. Paintings put the viewer into the present, but in this statue, I could very nearly see the heartaches and worries that had carved every crease and shadow in the figure's expression.

I absently heard their voices as man, wizard, and hobbit spoke, but only passingly listened as Pippin told his tale of Boromir's untimely fall. I almost feared that if I bent all of my focus upon listening to their conversation, that it might draw unwanted attention to myself. But thankfully, Pippin told his tale plainly, leaving me out and focusing on the mighty Boromir.

I glanced up from my place in the shadows, watching again as Pippin withdrew his sword and laid it at the steward's feet. And I continued watching as Denethor ceremoniously accepted his service and Pippin swore fealty to his new lord. My stomach churned as he foreswore himself to the steward, yet I knew and could feel Pippin's pride in swearing his allegiance to a great man and easing his debt for the loss of Boromir, so as I had so often done, I bit my tongue and remained silent. I'd foresworn myself to my own country, and I could not stop Pippin from choosing his own path of honoring those lost.

"What of your silent and shrouded companion," Denethor called out, attracting my attention. "Step forward from the shadow and reveal yourself." My attention snapped to the steward at his command, and I saw Gandalf stiffen in response.

"Come forward," he commanded again at my hesitation.

Gandalf remained stiff, but finally gave a curt nod. Seeing no other option, I stepped out of the shadow I had hoped would shield me.

As I stepped to the dais, I saw that servants had pulled more chairs and a stool for Pippin out, as well as laying out a small feast. I stepped near where Gandalf stood, but stayed a few paces back, hoping beyond hope that Denethor would be satisfied with my silent presence.

"What is your name?" he wondered, standing and imperiously walking closer.

"Our companion is called Lane, and is but a traveler from the far North," Gandalf supplied before I could determine what to say.

Denethor stopped in front of me. Though wizened by age, Denethor was still a tall and proud man, and even though he stooped to catch sight of my face, could not see past the shadow of my downturned gaze and thick hood.

"A strange name to match such strange company," Denethor wondered, "but do you speak aught but strange words, or can you bring forth thoughts of your own in our tongue rather than letting the wizard speak for you?" he continued. His words were not spoken unkindly, yet they hinted a touch of coyness, and I knew that the steward would not be satisfied with the wizard answering for me.

"I do not speak when I have nothing to add," I quietly replied, hoping the answer would satisfy him.

"Nobel indeed, one who knows the virtue in speaking when there are matters of worth and holding their tongue to frivolous affairs. Yet I would hear your words, for I feel that much you may have to offer without your tongue being classified flippant. I have heard the tale from our Halfling friend, yet I sense there are pieces to the telling which are missing. Speak plainly; were you too, witness to my son's demise or one who did so call him friend?" the steward pressed.

"I am one who called him friend until his end, and though I too bore witness to his fall, there is aught I can add to ease a father's troubled heart than that which Peregrin has already told," I explained.

Denethor stepped even closer as I finished, he raised his hand, and I thought he would push my hood back himself, but he merely gestured at it. "Remove your hood," he commanded, though his tone softened, and I feared he was beginning to understand what he would find.

Seeing no other option but to rudely leave my hood in place, I slowly swept it back, letting it fall into place behind me, and revealing the face I was sure was weary and travel-stained.

And wholly feminine.

"A woman?" he quietly wondered. Looking back a Gandalf, he continued, "And what place has a woman in all of this, disguised though as a man."

Gandalf had spoken in my stead enough, so I answered before he could and drawing the steward's attention back to me. "I dress as I always have, not to disguise or deceive, but for practicality. My path has never been lined by linen and lace, but rather by brawn and battle."

"Battle?" he repeated incredulously. "What does a woman know of battle?"

"I have seen more of it than your seasoned soldiers, and I have seen many felled by it, your mighty son not the least of them." Though I was trying to maintain my insistence in my choices, I was also very aware that I was speaking to the Steward of Gondor, and trying to check my tongue and speak to him courteously.

He paced around me, curiously studying me. I held my chin high and maintained the strict attention that had been pounded into my head since basic training as he circled me.

"From where do you hail, that the head of your house would allow a woman to so bear such dangerous armaments?" he pondered. His disapproval was tangible, yet he wasn't disdainful, as I'd expected.

"My country is far beyond any lands known here. And I have no husband nor have I a father in my life to speak against any such choice I may make. Yet while it is uncommon that women join our men in battle, it is not forbidden in my country." I turned my head to the side to meet Denethor's gaze. "I have not hearth and home nor husband to take my time, so I gave my skills and usefulness to my country's military. What better use could I have made of myself and my skills? My country has accepted that an enemy killed by a woman, is just as dead as one killed by a man." I chose to neglect pointing out that when I had served as a Marine, I had in fact been married; the fact would have only confused matters.

"And you have slain men in battle?" he queried, moving back to stand in front of me as he appraised me.

"Uncounted," I replied shortly. I knew I hadn't killed such scores of men that the number was uncountable; I had merely not been the kind of person who numbered such things. "And I have slain many Orcs since I began my journey with the others, and many more in the battle at the Deep."

Denethor considered it for a moment. "Greatly do I doubt the wisdom of Lord Elrond in choosing to send a woman with the number that left Rivendell. So how pray tell, how did you come to join my son and his companions?"

I answered as truthfully as I could. "I was lost in an unfamiliar territory when our paths crossed. I chose to accompany them to Lothlórien and then I chose to continue with them afterwards."

Again, he stopped to consider my words carefully. "Then you were present when my son fell?" he finally asked.

With a nod, I answered, "Yes. I fought beside him until he was pierced by many arrows. And even then, he fought valiantly on though he knew his lifeblood had been spilt. Though I was loath to leave his side, I followed his last wish, and turned away to try and protect the hobbits from harm."

"Yet they were taken captive."

"Yes, I was struck in the head from behind and taken as well."

Denethor's hand came up to thoughtfully stroke his chin. "I can understand the desire to capture the Halflings, but what would have been the advantage to capturing you?"

I could see the intelligent gleam in his eyes. Denethor was no fool and a master in the art of manipulating conversation. He knew, or perhaps had even seen something in his palantír about why I had been captured, but I was more than masterfully well versed in the art of half-truths and deception. If Denethor only suspected there was something more, I would do nothing to confirm why Saruman had wanted my capture.

"I am a woman. I can think of a dozen different uses for the captivity of a woman thought helpless, as I'm sure you and any other man can as well," I bluntly told.

As expected, a faint flush came to the steward's cheeks at my brazen words. But mercifully, he let the subject drop.

He stepped away, looking back towards Pippin and Gandalf, both of whom seemed equally as abashed by my forthright statement. Although, Gandalf also seemed more than slightly disapproving.

Denethor turned back towards me and I noticed the slightest tug of a smile. "You remind me of my son," he whispered so lowly I doubted the others hear. "He was a warrior born, and more than once uncouth language passed his lips."

Laughing, I replied, "I'm surprised by that. He never missed an opportunity to upbraid me for my own 'uncouth' language. Said it wasn't fit for a 'lady.'" I shook my head. "He was an honorable man and I mourned his death as a friend."

Looking up into the steward's eyes, I was surprised to see such tenderness replace the calculating gleam that had always seemed alight in them. We held each other's eyes for a moment, sharing a moment's look into a man we'd both known, in a light we hadn't seen him in before.

But then, Denethor cleared his throat and looked away. When his eyes returned to mine, the tenderness was again buried, and the shrewd look had returned.

"You seem to have valued my son's worth as highly as Master Peregrin has shown. And you too have said that you fought beside him until his last, yet I wonder at your presence here. The Halfling has shown his love and devotion to my son by laying his sword at my feet. Yet you sought to remain hidden in the shadows."

Drawing a deep breath, I answered the challenge head-on that he had tapped around. "I'm sure Master Peregrin shall serve you as ably as any can in the coming days. More so than any shall ever think to expect of him. Himself included I fear. But my days of pledging my service to any lord or nation are passed. I pledged my service to my country's flag some time ago, and though I no longer serve under her banner, I cannot in my heart foreswear to another. My sword-arm will gladly lend aid to your cause in the coming battle, but I cannot swear allegiance again."

He considered for a moment. "If you have sworn service to your own country, why then are you here? What is this country you have sworn to, and why do you not serve them still?"

"As Gandalf said, my country is far away, but it matters not, there is not a single one of my countrymen in all of Arda. I am alone here. And as my country always tried to lend aid to other nations in need during their own times of war and strife, so I will do likewise again."

"You think I and my captains will see fit to place a woman in the heart of battle?" he asked, not seeming nearly as incredulous as he had when I'd first revealed myself.

"King Théoden and his men came to recognize my worth in battle. And as I told him, I have no liege that can order me from it. I will lend my hand where I see the need for it."

I braced myself for anger from Denethor at my brash words, but it never came.

"I can see why a friendship was formed with my son. He too was bold."

He turned away, not consenting to my joining his soldiers in battle, but also not trying to forbid it. I considered that more of a victory than I could have hoped for.

"Lead the Lord Mithrandir to the housing prepared for him," Denethor loudly proclaimed, "and his Halfling companion may lodge with him for the present, if he will. But be it known that I have sworn him to my service, and he shall be known as Peregrin son of Paladin and taught the lesser pass-words." He turned to look at me again. "The lady may be given a room nearby as well, with proper accouterments, of course." He looked away again. "Send word to the Captains that they shall wait on me here, as soon as may be after the third hour has rung.

"And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of sleep. Let your wrath at an old man's folly run off, and then return to my comfort!"

"Folly?" Gandalf scoffed. "Nay, my lord, when you are a dotard you will die. You can use even your grief as a cloak. Do you think that I do not understand your purpose in questioning for an hour the ones who know the least, while I sit by?"

Denethor spoke in return to Gandalf, but my mind was lost in thought as I studied the steward. Wizened and gray, but he had certainly not lost any sharpness of mind. I realized that Gandalf had been exactly right, though Denethor's grief for his son was more than palpable to my extra senses, he did not let his grief hinder him. Instead, he used even it to his advantage, pulling what information he could about his son and the Fellowship from Pippin, and then even getting more information out of me than I had intended. But he'd seen the obvious grief and sorrow both Pippin and I shared with the Steward for his son, and so played his part as the grieving father expertly to extract further knowledge from us both.

I wasn't sure whether to be pissed at not having seen it sooner, or to applaud his masterful efforts. _Another reason I never wanted to climb the ranks in the Marines. I may have the advantage of reading minds, but I've never had the head for the elaborate tap-dances of politics._

As Gandalf, Pippin, and I left the Great Hall, I threw on last lingering look at the steward seated on his stone chair at the base of the steps to the throne. He'd again picked up the Horn of Gondor, cloven in two. And I could feel the great weight of grief welling again inside him.

I couldn't help but admire him. A lesser man would have allowed his grief to swallow him whole and left all around him to ruin, but Denethor had used any trick at hand to his advantage in trying to further the hope for victory for his people. He was overwhelmed with despair that nothing he could do would be enough to change the tide against the horde he saw in the palantír marching from Mordor, but still, he would do anything to save his protectorate.

It was worth admiration.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that seemed like a good place to end this chapter. Any dialog that looks familiar is the work of Tolkien, and I did use a bit more of it in this chapter than I normally do, but it was somewhat necessary as Lane wasn't always stepping away from the action or creating her own scenes as she usually does. So I hope you can forgive the further inclusion of Tolkien's work. I did twist some of it to better fit Lane's inclusion in the scenes.

And I know this chapter (as well as the next several) doesn't feature Legolas, but he'll be back. As usual, I'm mostly following the books, so those of you who were expecting crazy Denethor, sorry, he's no more a psycho than Boromir was in the books, and I'm doing my best to portray them as nobly (but flawed) as they were in Tolkien's work.

Also, as it was pointed out, I know in the last chapter Lane refers to Éowyn as being younger than she truly was by Tolkien's works. In the book, she is I think 24 by the time of the War of the Ring, and I'm not changing that. Merely showing that Lane sees her differently. To Lane's eyes, she looks much younger. And truthfully, she always seemed much younger in my own eyes.

Éowyn was always someone I saw as still very much a girl. Forced to mature in many ways far too soon and far beyond her actual age, but I've seen and known this to happen with other people. And often, it has a strange effect on them. While they are matured in many aspects, there can often be parts of their personalities that are stuck in adolescents since they were never allowed to mature naturally and go through all the proper stages of maturity. I've always seen Éowyn this way. At the age of 24, she should have been past the time for girlish crushes on men she hardly knew, and she certainly should have been past the age for teenage girl angst in thinking her life was over or not worth living if she couldn't have the man she wanted.

I know I'm exaggerating a bit, but to an extent, that was what was partly happening with Éowyn. The fatalist teenage drama of "my life is over" was somewhat playing out with her. And it WAS necessary, because she needed to be in Gondor to slay the Witch-King.

I'm just saying that at this point in the books, there was still a lot of maturity she needed to yet gain, and that's what Lane sees in her and mistakenly thinks she's actually younger than she is. I wasn't actually trying to change her age from the books.

But anyway, thanks again to everyone for following me this far. There's still a wild ride to go, but I hope you all stick it out!

And as always, let me know what you thought!


	3. Waiting in the Darkness

**Chapter 3: Waiting in the Darkness**

_This is bigger than my entire apartment in Chicago was, _I thought to myself as I looked around the palatial room I'd been led to. _Rooms, _I corrected myself, noting that several were attached to the bedroom. I wondered if the quarters Gandalf and Pippin were sharing next door were this grand.

I crossed the room to kneel on the bench in front of the open window. The view was breathtaking. And a hell of a drop, I realized looking down. But looking to the north at the Anduin, I took in the picturesque sight of the mist-covered water colored orange by the sunrise, and looking at the sight, I could understand why Boromir had so loved this city.

It was too populated for my taste—but then again, Chicago had been too—and there wasn't the vast openness of green that appealed to my heart; instead, it was unending stone and masonry. Beautiful in its mastery, but it didn't appeal to my heart.

But the view. The view did. Looking out across the river-scape, I could see why Boromir had fought so hard. What he'd given everything for.

But it was too populated, I thought again as I rubbed my throbbing temple. I'd been able to withstand living and working in Chicago because I'd kept strict practice in maintaining the barriers that kept others' thoughts out. And I was now sorely out of practice. I'd gotten spoiled from allowing myself to sink into the soothing thoughts of Legolas's mind, and that indulgence now came at the price of my throbbing headache as the clamor of so many voices pounded in my head.

_Time to do something about it, _I told myself.

Tossing my pack and weapons on the overstuffed chair next to the bed, I proceeded to remove my weapons and then climb on top of the dark covers. I crossed my legs Indian-style, and closed my eyes, focusing my thoughts inward. Sometimes it helped to focus on pleasing sounds or light music as I did this, but just as living in my Chicago apartment, there were no chirping birds or pleasant sounds of a forest, which I preferred, so instead, I focused on my breathing as I controlled and strengthened the barriers that shut other minds out.

And eventually, I could hear only the soft inhale and exhale of my breath.

Yet all too soon, I heard another soft noise patting across the stone floor.

"What did you need, Pip?" I asked, not bothering to open my eyes.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked full of surprise. The sounds of his footsteps increased until he was at the bed. And then the mattress suddenly depressed as the young hobbit hopped up to sit across from me.

My eyes popped open at his bold move, but then I smiled, realizing the innocence of the hobbits was something I loved most about them. To them, it was no big deal to hop up on a woman's bed.

"I knew it was your footsteps because I recognize the sound of you sneaking around." I laughed as his ears colored to pink. "Plus, who else your size and weight would be coming into my room unannounced?"

"What were you doing?" he wondered, gesturing to where I sat. "You looked almost like you was asleep sitting up. I almost decided to turn around and leave, but I couldn't believe you could really be sleeping while still sitting upright."

I laughed happily, the hobbit already lifting my spirits—and making me realize how much they needed lifting, and how lonely I was. "I was meditating."

"What's 'meditating?'" he asked, repeating the word in a slow, drawn out way.

With a shrug, I tried to explain, "It's where you focus on shutting the world and all its problems away, and focus on something like breathing. Mostly I do it to try and shut the voices out."

Pippin gave me a startled look and stared at me as if I'd grown another head. I replayed what I said and it finally struck me. He was looking at me as if I was crazy and had just admitted to hearing voices in my head. I'd forgotten he hadn't known about that. I'd gotten too comfortable in thinking my companions knew, but I guess it was just Legolas and Gimli that knew. Perhaps Aragorn as well. One of the other two had likely told him at any rate. But the hobbits hadn't known. I wasn't even sure if Gandalf knew.

"I ah—" I stuttered as I tried to word it properly. "I hear the voices of other's thoughts in my head," I finally spouted. _Ah hell, not exactly what I intended, but then again, there probably isn't proper wording for that kind of thing._

Pippin looked dubious as he leaned slightly back and peered up at me.

"I can feel your doubt Pippin," I told him. With him sitting this close, I only had to let my barriers slip a bit to catch his feelings and thoughts. "You still mostly think in whatever language that is you hobbits use in the Shire—" At that, his look turned to surprise. "—so I can't understand most of what you're thinking, but I see the passing images of food and bits of thought in Westron wondering if Gondorians know about second breakfast or any of the other meals you've been missing."

I braced myself for shock, horror, fear, resentment, or any other number of reactions, but I'd forgotten that the hobbits always seemed to surprise me. Pippin most of all.

"You can really tell what I'm thinking?" he asked, a strange sort of awe lighting his face. "What's it like?" he eagerly continued.

The laugh caught us both by surprise. I hadn't meant to, but it was a deep sound of relief passing my lips.

Through my softening chuckles, I managed to tell him, "Mostly it's a pain in the ass, Pip. I'd give it up in a heartbeat. But it has been useful. I'd have never made it as a Marine in my world without it to give me an edge."

"Oh, no doubt," he eagerly agreed. "Why, I could use something just like that back home. If I knew what Diamond was thinking..." he trailed off looking embarrassed. "I mean, if I knew what Fatty Bolger was thinking, I bet he wouldn't give me and Merry such hard times."

I smiled, but didn't comment on his cover-up.

And though Pippin was surprisingly accepting of my anomaly, I wasn't much interested in talking about it. To change the subject, I asked, "So, what _are _you doing in my room, Pip?"

He seemed to search his mind for a moment. "Oh, right," he finally responded. "Gandalf wanted me to go check on Shadowfax for him in the stalls. Says these Gondorians are a good sort and all, but not the finest horsemen. I thought you might like to come with me."

Unfolding myself from the bed, I started pulling my weapons and cloak back on. "Sure," I told the young hobbit. "I'll come with you. Better than sitting around here. And I'm sure these Gondorians do well enough with horses, but since they don't have the same need for them in a big stone city like this, I'm sure they're nowhere near the caliber as the Rohirrim."

Pippin nodded as we left my room. "No doubt there. I've never seen big folk so attentive to their stock before. We have some work ponies in the Shire of course and the big folk use them in Bree, but they're nothing on the refinery of the horses I saw those soldiers from Rohan riding."

As we walked outside down the street, a bell tolled three times clear and loudly. I paused for a moment, but then realized it was tolling the mark of three hours past sunrise, not three o'clock in the morning.

"Nine o'clock we'd call it in the Shire," Pippin remarked. "Just the time for a nice breakfast by the open window in spring sunshine. And how I should like breakfast! Do these people ever have it, or is it over? And when do they have dinner, and where?"

Looking down at his consternation, I laughed. "Still worried about where your next meal is coming from?"

"Surely," he eagerly attested. "I can't affect what's going to happen with the battle to come. I can't help Frodo and Sam anymore. I can't even help these big folks prepare for battle. So why worry overmuch about those things? But breakfast, that's something I can still hope for."

"The practicality of hobbits," I wondered with a shake of my head.

Glancing up, I noticed a man dressed in the black and white of the citadel guard coming towards us. He was obviously intent on us, so I stopped to wait for him.

"You are Peregrin the Halfling?" he asked, surprising both Pippin and me by speaking directly to the hobbit. "I am told that you have been sworn to the service of the Lord and of the City. Welcome!"

He held his hand out for Pippin to shake, continuing to introduce himself as he did so.

"I am named Beregond son of Baranor. I have no duty this morning, and I have been sent to you to teach you the pass-words, and to tell you some of the many things that no doubt you will wish to know. And for my part, I would learn of you also. For never have we seen a halfling in this land and though we have heard rumor of them, little is said of them in any tale that we know. Moreover you are a friend of Mithrandir. Do you know him well?"

"Well," Pippin started, obviously pleased with the man's rapt and avid attention. "I have known _of _him all my short life, as you might say; and lately I have travelled far with him. But there is much to read in that book, and I cannot claim to have seen more than a page or two. Yet perhaps I know him as well as any but a few. Aragorn was the only one of our Company, I think, who really knew him."

"Aragorn?" Beregond repeated. "Who is he?"

Pippin realized his slip and stammered, "Oh, he was a man who went about with us. I think he is in Rohan now." Pippin turned to me and waved up at me as he tried to distract the man, "But Lane knows Gandalf—I mean, Mithrandir, too. She's travelled with our Company as well."

I fought the urge to elbow the hobbit as the man's attention finally settled on me. I'd been more than fine with being an easily overlooked woman.

Now, his attention lingered on my strange appearance. "I had heard there was another traveller with Mithrandir and the halfling, but I had not heard your countenance was as strange as your companions. What business, pray tell, does a woman have to be so dressed and in such company."

With a nonchalant shrug, I said, "I'm merely a traveller. And in these dark days, it's unwise to travel about bound in skirts to herald your identity for any rogues to see." Not exactly true, but it seemed to be something Beregond could at least swallow.

I gestured to the building that had the apparent look and musky smell of a stable. "I'll go check on the horses, Pip. Take your time with Beregond; I'm sure you two have business to discuss."

As I walked away, I almost laughed at the relieved look on the man's face. I wondered if I should tell him that I didn't need to eavesdrop on him telling Pippin the pass-words for the various levels of the city, that I could pluck it from the minds of the guards at every gate.

* * *

I'd been in the stable tending to my own horse for only a few minutes when Pippin and Beregond came in, still chatting happily. Beregond seemed completely enthralled with the young hobbit—not that I could blame him, I often found the hobbits enthralling myself—and was eager to follow Pippin around and learn what he could from him. I had the feeling that he was a man who yearned for the freedom to travel afar, but had never been given the opportunity. I'd known people like that before. Either too fearful, or without the means to travel as they wished, and so they eagerly followed about those who had, trying to live vicariously through their tales.

Pippin was peering up into Shadowfax's manger, trying to ensure he had enough hay, but I realized that Pippin wasn't all that sure about how much a horse might need.

"Don't worry about it, Pip," I called over to him from my stall. "I'll tend to the horses; you go on your way with Beregond and learn what you need to know."

He popped over to my stall, standing in the opening as I rehung the bucket of water I'd filled for Lightfoot's stall. It hadn't been empty yet, but he'd taken enough to lower the level by half at least.

"You sure, Lane? You don't want to come with us?" Pippin asked, oblivious to the frowning man behind him. I doubted the man had any idea I was as travelled as any man in these lands was, and could tell stories that would make even Pippin wonder, but they were mostly tales from my own world. And though I wasn't offended, I knew that Beregond had no desire to spend time with a woman. In his eyes, I didn't seem nearly as exciting and exotic as a hobbit.

Biting back a grin, I firmly told Pippin, "Yeah, I'm sure. Go ahead. I'll take care of the horses and wander a bit by myself."

"By yourself?" Pippin repeated, seemingly worried for my safety. "Are you certain?"

Now, I did laugh. "I can take care of myself, Pip. Go. Learn your duties. I've gone my own way more than once on our journey you know."

"Yeah, but Legolas asked me and Gandalf to look after you. What if something happens?" he explained, his brow deeply furrowed.

That did surprise me, I hadn't realized Legolas had even spoken to the pair before we left, but he'd obviously managed at least a few words. "Legolas knows I can take care of myself, Pip. He shouldn't have tried to burden you or Gandalf with the task. Besides, what's going to happen to me here in the city?" I tried again explaining to the hobbit who still didn't seem convinced. "It's not like we're out in the wilds, or even in a city whose language I don't speak. I'll be fine."

He finally seemed mollified by this. "I guess that's true enough. Besides, I do have my duties to learn. Shall I see you this evening? Perhaps for the evening meal?"

"We'll see. I'm sure we'll cross paths again. Go have fun exploring and learning your responsibilities," I told him with a wave, watching him and the man walk out the doors of the stable.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day wandering about the city just as I told Pippin I would. The hood of my cloak was once again pulled forward, so passersby would have no notion that a woman was beneath.

Wandering the city, I wasn't surprised by the lack of women, I had known they had been sent away for the coming battle, but I was surprised by the number of children still present. Or rather, young boys. Some played for a time in small groups, but all seemed to come and go, most likely running errands for their fathers. I knew it was their rite of passage so to speak, their step to becoming men, but I mourned it just as I'd mourned the boys in Rohan now made into men. I could only pray that the boys here would be spared from yet having to pick up swords, hoping they could remain message-runners.

Twice I saw Pippin from afar, once with Beregond, and the other time with a boy I assumed was his son Bergil. But I remained where I was, wandering in the shadows as I made my own explorations of the city. Pippin appeared to be having fun, especially with young Bergil, but with battle hanging on the horizon, any of the youthful play left in me had fled, replaced by weariness. So on I continued. Surveying the city and doing my best to know my surroundings. The scout in me knew the utmost importance of knowing your surroundings well before the battle was begun.

At some time in my travels, I had acquired a small purse of gold coins. I think Andreth had packed them for me in Lothlórien—a gift for which I was most grateful. The streets were mostly deserted, but there were a few vendors selling food still. I'd spent time in various markets throughout my own world, so haggling and bartering for goods was not unique to me, but paying with gold coin for currency was different. Blessedly, speaking in soft, one-word sentences and keeping my hood up, prevented the denizens of Gondor from realizing I was a woman.

I finally found a place along the wall on the lowest level where I could quietly sit and watch the troops marching into the city. Great numbers from outlying areas marched in, one group was even led under the Ship and the Silver Swan banner I knew to be Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth's people.

But just as the anxious citizens of Gondor fretted, I too worried if the influx of troops would be enough.

Battle in this world was not the same as battle I was used to. The advent of guns, explosives, planes, helicopters, and a thousand different advances had so changed the face of war in my own world. Wars were no longer won by sheer numbers and brute force there. Tactics I knew played as large a role in this world as it did in my own, but they were different. Here it would be where to best use each company of men. In my own, we relied more on where best to send drones, explosives... and snipers.

I sighed. Not since shortly after arriving in this world had I felt useless. In our travels and in my bid to learn the weapons of this world, I had not had the idle time to worry about what use I could be here. There had only been time for action—for learning. Even at Helm's Deep, I had been distraught emotionally for thinking Legolas had been lost, but once he'd returned, the battle had been joined so swiftly. There had been no time to consider what place or what use I could be in the warfare of this world.

I preferred action.

Determined to no longer sit on the wall idly letting my mind wander over topics that could not be changed, I decided to follow a bit of Pippin's advice. His quarry had been food, but I would seek a different kind of distraction.

In my own world—while I'd still been an active Marine at any rate—I had spent many hours at the sniper shooting range. There I could hone my skills and close off thoughts I didn't want to consider. At the time, it had been a great way to avoid a husband and marriage I knew had been falling apart since the words "I do."

But now, I would find an archery range and work on honing skills still far too new to me. Skills that had been battle-tested yes, but could always use improvement. Only this time, it wasn't a misbegotten marriage and husband I was avoiding, but rather, dread of the battle to come. And a future unknown to me.

I knew the battle would be won in Minas Tirth. No matter what my presence in this world might have affected, the ripples could only carry so far. But I still didn't know my own future. I knew what I wanted. But I feared that the story would end just as it had been written. That Legolas and Gimli would sail for Valinor. Alone.

And maybe it was for the best. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be here.

"Ugh!" I groaned to myself out loud. "I'm getting sick of this introspective, quavering bullshit! To hell with fate or the way things were _written, _I've always done things my own way and that ain't stopping now."

* * *

Hours later, I returned to my room, pleasantly sore from hours practicing my archery.

Darkness had fallen. Not the usual kind that came with the end of day, but a gloom and ashen cloud settling over the sky.

I knew day would not light the sky again for some time.

But even with the darkness that had fallen, I'd managed to find a lonely and deserted archery field. It looked to have once been heavily used, but with the soldiers of Gondor busily following their orders, and the field not being overly close to the citadel, I was able to practice in piece and solitude.

The halls of the citadel were softly lit by sconces, but I encountered no one in them as I made my way back to my room.

As I slowly slid the door to my room open, I saw that candles were lit throughout here as well.

And that the room was not empty.

My fingers instinctually slid my knife soundlessly from my belt, inching forward towards the soft sounds coming from the sitting room off the small entryway into my quarters.

But then, I realized the soft noises I heard were the fretful mutterings of a woman and her feet scuffing softly as she paced. Holding the knife out of view, I peered around the edge of the stone doorway and caught the sight of my trespasser.

An adolescent girl wringing her hands nervously as she paced back and forth.

Sheathing my knife, I cleared my throat to get her attention.

The slip of a girl gave a shrill scream and pressed her hands to her neck.

Cringing at the noise, I asked, "Is there a reason you're in my rooms?"

She tried to speak three times before she could force more than a squeak past her trembling lips, causing me to feel like an ass for so obviously scaring the girl out of her wits.

Finally, she managed, "Are you the lady called 'Lane?'"

"Yes, and I'm sorry for scaring you like that, but what are you doing here? It's late and I was going to get some sleep," I explained in a carefully soft voice, afraid that if I spoke too loudly she'd jump out a window with how tightly wound she seemed.

"Forgive me," she immediately apologized. "I am to serve you during your stay within the citadel. I have been searching the city for you by day and night, and could not find you. I feared I had failed my task in guiding you and tending to you and you were lost in the city," she continued in a rush.

"I'm sorry," I apologized again to her, feeling like a real heel given how upset I could sense the girl was. _Did she think she was going to be thrown in the dungeons or beheaded just because I'd wandered around the city by myself?_ "I didn't know there would be anyone looking for me. I spent the day familiarizing myself with your city."

Her head immediately dropped in a dejected manner. "Forgive me," she begged brokenly, "I have failed to tend to you properly."

I stepped forward and lifted her chin with the side of my forefinger. "Hey, no big deal. I was fine." As her face rose to meet mine, I saw the tears sparkling there. _Great, and I make little girls cry too._ "What's this? No tears, you've done nothing wrong. And I'm sorry for startling you, I'm a mean, grouchy old woman and I shouldn't have come in here and snapped at you."

She shook her head. "Nay, 'tis my own fault. I was given the opportunity to serve in the citadel, but I have failed my task. My mother's mother said I was not yet ready to serve the great ones that reside here."

Still grasping her chin and not letting her turn away in embarrassment, I said, "Hey, if you'd been assigned to serve _anyone _else, like someone who knows how to behave as women are expected to in this city, I'm sure you'd be doing a superb job. It's as much my fault as yours. I should have realized they'd send someone up to help me out." _They always seemed to send someone to _serve _ladies. Wish they'd _wake up_ and realize they're _way_ off their mark with me._

The girl sniffed delicately, and I released her chin to let her wipe at her eyes and nose.

"Well, as you can see, I made my way around the city just fine, and I'm not lost, so why don't you get some sleep. I'm sure you could use it as much as I can," I told the girl.

I was immediately met with adamant refusal. "Nay, I will see to your needs before you go to rest. It is my duty."

Seeing her firm resolve—and preferring that too her tears—I nodded and started dropping my cloak and weapons on the foot of the bed. "Fine. How about you show me how to get a bath around here, and I'll be ready to hit the hay."

The girl disappeared into what I knew to be the bathroom from my initial exploration of the quarters I'd been assigned, and after I'd shed all but my shirt and pants, I followed the girl into the room barefoot. The stone was cool on my feet, but not as unpleasantly so as I'd expected of a stone floor.

"What's your name? And how old are you? You don't seem old enough to have stayed in the city when I know they've evacuated the women and children." I asked the girl as she busily turned handles on the pipes of the large tub in the middle of the room. Surprisingly, as the water ran through the open tub, it soon started to steam.

She again looked flustered and quickly dropped into a curtsey. "I am called Nethiel, my lady. I have passed ten and three summers. My mother had wished me to leave with the others, but aid was sure to be needed in the Houses of Healing before the end is nigh, so I begged leave to remain. I was to have been a runner for the healers, sent to fetch and gather at their need, but word was sent that a lady had arrived in the citadel and needed a lady's maid. I have longed to work in the citadel and begged to have the opportunity."

I waved it away unconsciously. "Just Lane. None of the lady stuff. So thirteen, huh?" _So very young._ "And what does your father think of this?"

Her eyes dropped back to her task. "He does not think, my lady. He fell when Osgiliath was taken."

"I'm sorry," I offered, knowing nothing could ease that hurt. My eyes drifted back to the steaming water in the ensuing silence.

She saw my intrigued stare at the warm water and turned her attention there. Reaching into the tub to place the stopper into it, she explained, "The citadel has pipes which bring cold water down from high in the mountains and then pass through a large furnace to warm the water." She pointed to the other pipe and began turning the nob on top of it, water coming out of it as well. "This is cold water which does not pass through the furnace. The citadel has many amenities which make us very coveted throughout Gondor."

"I can imagine," I agreed with a short whistle. "I'm coveting right now. I never expected to see indoor running water in Middle-earth. I don't know why I expected that to be so far beyond this place."

She looked curiously at me, but I waved it away.

"What does 'hit the hay' mean?" Nethiel quietly asked.

Laughing, I answered, "Just a strange expression where I come from. It means getting sleep."

She looked curious and seemingly wanting to ask more about where I was from, but thankfully, the girl kept quiet, probably thinking it was out of place for her to ask. I wouldn't have minded normally, but I hated trying to come up with a convincing lie.

As the tub continued filling, I saw her lingering glances at my pants and shirt. The girl seemed both scandalized and intrigued.

"Pants are a lot easier for traveling," I finally offered, hoping to satisfy her curiosity even though she didn't dare ask.

The girl ducked her head in embarrassment at being caught looking at my unusual clothes.

"No big deal," I assured her. "I'm sure you've never seen a woman dressed like a man before."

"Nay, never," she quietly agreed. I grinned, thinking if she was back to working in the Houses of Healing when the battle started, she's see another woman so dressed after the battle.

The tub finally filled, she turned the taps off and waited for me to climb in.

I didn't want to offend the girl, but I also didn't want a girl not yet even a woman seeing my scars and having to wonder—or worse, ask—where they had come from.

"If it's all the same to you, Nethiel, I prefer to bath in private," I gently explained.

She blushed and dipped her head. "I would take your clothes to wash," she whispered.

"Naw, don't worry about them. They've seen far worse, and I have more in my pack. You can get them tomorrow if you really want. And don't worry; you've been exceedingly helpful to me already. I probably wouldn't have figured out the water for the bath if not for you," I laughed lightly to the girl. "And I think you're doing great with this lady's maid thing. Though I'm no expert since I've never had one." I still didn't count Andreth in Lórien. She'd been a friend.

The girl finally smiled at that, seeming content with the compliment. "I shall bring you morning tea then," she offered with a curtsey.

Finally alone in the room, I settled in for a long relaxing bath.

* * *

When Nethiel came into the room the next morning, balancing a tray with food and tea, I was already awake, lounging on the bench by the large, open window.

I'd never been one for sleeping all that much, but in recent years, I'd gotten much worse, sleeping only when exhaustion forced me to, and even then, being tormented with my nightmarish past. Though strangely, in recent weeks, it had mostly been better. But then, I'd had someone nearby who'd offered me comfort I was just now beginning to realize.

Disgusted that I'd become one of those women sitting around pining for a man (well, elf) and letting myself become dependent on him, I swung my legs over the side of the bench and hopped to my feet, following Nethiel into the sitting room.

Just like Andreth in Lórien, I was finally able to persuade the girl into joining me in partaking of the mountain of food she'd brought me. Although, unlike Andreth, the girl was far shyer and kept mostly silent. I supposed it was the greater age difference between me and Nethiel than Andreth and me. And I immediately smiled to myself at the thought. Andreth was likely far older as an elf, so I amended my thought; it was probably that vast difference in maturity. Nethiel was still very much a girl, though I imagined on the cusp of womanhood to her people.

After we'd eaten and I'd dressed—and Nethiel had insisted on sending my clothes to be laundered—I ventured out again to explore the city more with Nethiel by my side.

It was better than sitting around waiting for the battle to come, but I would have rather done it alone. Yet, Nethiel insisted she come along, still fearing I'm might lose my way and the blame fall on the poor girl.

Though it was day, it was difficult to tell by walking around outside. A grayish light barely pierced through the dark cloud hanging over Gondor. It was easier to determine it was daytime by the flurry of activity from the soldiers still fortifying the city.

At least having Nethiel with this time did mean I had some conversation. She quietly told me about the history and uses of the seven gates and the seven walls and levels of the city as we walked down through those levels.

We received many curious looks as we walked about, for I kept my hood up to maintain the façade of masculinity. I suppose the Gondorians wondered about what the dark stranger was doing walking about with a young girl while they so busily prepared for a siege, but none had the time to question or comment on it.

At noontime, I let Nethiel persuade me into returning to the citadel for a meal. She slipped into the kitchens and then we ate quietly in a plushly adorned salon. I was certain if there had still been nobles about—and no battle on the horizon—it would have been full of lords sitting about on the soft couches drinking wine and discussing their fiefdoms. It was richly decorated with many colorful tapestries and paintings of far-told battles.

Even the day before, I'd have stopped to peruse the paintings, but today, the battle to come was far too pressing in my mind.

Instead, I wandered about the citadel, eventually winding my way to the Great Hall. It stood open now, Denethor meeting within with his advisors and Gandalf about the coming battle and the disposition of Gondor's neighbors and whether they'd send aid.

Though Nethiel was too frightened to enter and waited nervously in the hall, I slipped inside the open doors and listened from the shadows.

Denethor knew a surprising amount about their neighbors in Rohan, asking Gandalf questions about the country's state that he already knew, and not seeming genuinely surprised by news like the king's nephew becoming his heir.

Gandalf often stared contemplatively at Denethor, and I wondered if the wizard knew or was beginning to suspect what was the seat of Denethor's great knowledge.

But then, Denethor looked up and seemed to pin me in his gaze though I knew I was hidden in the shadows. He said nothing for several moments, and Gandalf—seeming to see me as well—spoke to Denethor and pulled his attention away.

I needed no further hints; I slipped back out the way I'd come before Denethor could think to try to call me forward or in any way draw attention to me.

Without a word to Nethiel, I led the way back out of the citadel and down to the lowest level of the city, finding the place on the wall near the gate where I had sat the day before. Nethiel seemed to sense my need for quiet and remained silent as she sat beside me.

"Lane?" Pippin suddenly called out.

I turned from gazing across the Pelennor to see the hobbit and Beregond making their way towards my spot on the wall.

"Hey, Pip," I greeted, taking in the sight of his new livery of the citadel guards. "You look very handsome," I complimented.

He tugged at his tunic and looked distinctly uncomfortable. "They keep calling me the Prince of the Halflings," he whispered. "I'm no prince."

Chuckling at his discomfort and obvious distaste, I told him, "Let them have their silly tittles for you. You certainly look like a prince dressed like that. If people want to think and hope that a great prince of the halflings is among them, let 'em. No harm in it."

"I s'pose," he grumbled, sitting a little ways down from me by the wall.

Beregond sat on his other side, but was starting to glance more speculatively at me now. I suppose he was beginning to wonder if I truly was just a normal woman like he'd assumed, or something more.

I wasn't something more. But I _was_ something else.

"I wish this darkness would finally pass. Or that something would finally happen. I'm tired of the waiting," Pippin grumbled.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Pip. I hate waiting, too. But someone once said, 'We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness.'"

"Wise words," Beregond grudgingly said. I fought a smile; Beregond wasn't mean, cruel, or even demeaning in his thoughts towards me, but he didn't begin to know what to think about a woman like me.

Beregond and Pippin continued quietly talking, but my attention was soon held across the field. My sight for long-distances had always been exceptional—even without a sniper scope—so I noticed the riders coming across the field before my companions did.

As well as the circling beasts that flew through the air chasing them.

Pippin and Beregond now stood as well, having noticed the beasts first and finally their quarry. But we all cringed and pulled away from the wall when one of the great beasts let out a shrill cry. Yet, on its heels was the trumpet heralding Faramir's return.

Pippin remained frozen on the wall, but Beregond jumped up to run and offer what aid he could to his captain.

With a "Stay here," thrown over my shoulder at Nethiel, I followed on Beregond's heels.

We arrived at the gate in time to see Gandalf ride swiftly through them seated on Shadowfax. The Marine in me demanded to follow him and help soldiers in danger, but the beasts of the Black Riders called out again, causing me to shudder and shrink away from the blackness embedded in their very being, even in their call.

No, I couldn't force my feet to willingly carry me any closer to those things. Perhaps had I not been telepathic and not been able to feel their very menace down to my pores, I could have recklessly torn off after Gandalf.

But I remained planted safely within the wall, telling myself that Gandalf was more than capable of handling this threat, and waiting for the men to make the safety of the wall as well.

Once Gandalf had driven away the Black Riders, he and the men raced for the safety of the wall. As they paused inside the gate, Faramir still talking to Gandalf, I saw one of his men start to sway unsteadily sideways in his saddle.

Rushing forward, I shoved at his torso and held him up in his seat.

One of the soldiers nearby called out, "He needs be taken to the Houses of Healing."

And seeing no one else step forward to help the man, I decided they either meant me to tend the man, or for the man to tend himself. Without hesitation, I grabbed a chunk of the horse's mane with my left hand, and swung up behind him, trying to steady him as I did so with my right hand. The man was larger than me, and nearly toppled off the other side of his horse as I maneuvered behind him, but finally, we were both seated on the horse, with him mostly slumped forward over the horse's neck.

Stretching my arms wide to reach around the armored man, I grabbed the reins and urged the horse up through the levels of the city to the sixth level, thankful that Nethiel had been so eager to show me where she worked in the healing halls this morning.

"Hey! Injured man here!" I bellowed as I slid the horse to a stop outside the Houses of Healing.

A young male healer immediately rushed through the door and began helping me slide the soldier down from his horse. Letting the healer bear his weight for a moment, I jumped off too, and together, we slung the injured man's arms over our shoulders. At first, the injured man was still somewhat conscious, but then he lost his hold on it, and went limp in our arms.

It was actually a blessing. The young healer was no taller than I was, so with the injured man slumped between us, we were more easily able to carry him into the halls, his feet dragging the ground limply behind us.

The halls were still quiet, only the healers bustling about as the prepared for the onslaught of injured men they feared would all too soon be brought here, so we turned into the first room off the hallway, and carefully pulled him up on the cot.

The young healer and I were carefully pulling armor off the man when he glanced up and exclaimed, "Are you bleeding?"

I glanced down at my side and saw it stained with red. "No," I absently responded, lifting the man's arm that had been slung over my shoulder and seeing the corresponding red mark on his own side. Pulling the torn tunic away from the wound, I exposed a deep gash in the man's side.

The healer hissed through his teeth and finally glanced up at my face. He gasped again and seemed more shocked to find a woman across from him than when he'd thought I might have been injured as well.

"You-you are a woman," he stuttered.

"Yeah, A plus for you on the gender identification." I jerked my head back down between us. "Bleeding man," I reminded him.

The healer tore his gaze away and returned to stripping the paldrons that covered the man's shoulders and arms, though he continually stole glances at the decidedly unmasculine face my hood had fallen back to reveal.

When we removed the breastplate and backplate, I could see that he'd been cut somehow where the two pieces of armor joined. Likely in raising his arm to block a blow.

Finally, as we removed the last pieces of his armor, other healers entered the room and took over from me. I stepped back and readily let them. I was trained in first aid and battlefield medicine of course, but I doubted I'd be much help here. Their instruments and herbs were wholly unfamiliar to me.

Still, I had brought the man here and couldn't bring myself to leave until I knew his fate.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but I was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. As I looked up, I saw Faramir silhouetted in the doorway of the healing room. He came forward and quietly spoke to one of the healers, asking after the fate of the soldier under his command. He was weary I could see, but I admired his need and determination to see to the health of the men under his command.

However, I doubted the intelligence of me remaining in the room and catching his attention, regardless of my own desire to ascertain the man's status. So as Faramir leaned over the healers to hear their words, I slipped silently out the door he had entered.

I was partway up the street towards the citadel when a voice called out.

"Wait, you are the man who brought my soldier to the healing wardens?" I could hear the voice growing louder, and stopped until he had stepped in front of me. "I would thank—"

His words died in his throat as he took in my face.

"Yeah, I'm a woman," I replied irritably and started forward again. The shock that I was a woman was wearing thin.

Faramir visibly shook himself as he started forward again, falling in step with me. "You are the woman my father spoke of? The one so strangely clad and who arrived with Mithrandir and the halfling? Do you know who I am?" he added.

"Yeah," I sighed, answering both questions with that one word. "You look very much like Boromir—and your father as well for that matter. But no mistaking you and your brother as being siblings."

He lightly touched my elbow as he came to a stop, asking with the gentle touch if I would stop as well. I did so, my face turning up to his in silent question.

"I have been told you were with those present when my brother fell. I have heard the story second-hand now from my father, Mithrandir, and others, but wonder if you would be willing to tell me of what you know?" he quietly asked. His eyes wouldn't meet mine as he gave his request. I could see the hero-worship in his tremulous gaze, and the reluctance, but determination to hear the truth of his brother's last moments.

All day I had managed to keep my barriers in place, shutting the thoughts of others out, but the day had been long, and I had grown weary with the waiting, so Faramir's troubled thoughts flowed over my subconsciousness.

_It cannot be as Mithrandir told. Boromir was oft reckless, but he could not have sought to take the ring from the hobbit. Let the things they all speak to me have been false. Let not my brother's great prestige be so tarnished._

I saw the images in his mind flitting through my own of the meeting that had just taken place with his father, Gandalf, and Pippin, their voices sounding as though I'd actually been in the room.

_He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it he would have fallen. He would have kept if for his own, and when he returned you would not have known your son, _were Gandalf's harsh words.

_You found Boromir less apt to your hand, did you not, _Denethor had roughly returned. _But I who was his father say that he would have brought it to me._

I yanked myself from Faramir's anguished thoughts, shaking my head to clear it. "Come," I told him, gesturing to a low wall overlooking the lower levels and the Fields of the Pelennor.

Faramir leaned his back against the low wall and let his feet cross in front of him, bending to brace himself with his elbows on the wall as he watched me and waited for me to speak. Instead of facing him, I choose to lean forward on the low wall, bracing myself on my forearms as I clasped my hands and considered my words.

"I wish I could lie to you Faramir and tell you what you want to hear. But it would be a disservice to you, and a disservice to your brother's memory." He looked startled by my bluntness, or perhaps that I had guessed what he wanted to hear, but remained silent, waiting for me to continue.

"Your brother was a good man. An honorable man," I finally said, still trying to figure out how to tell Faramir this tale. "But he was a flawed man, as I'm sure you well know." I waited a few beats of my heart to let my words sink in. "When someone dies, we have a tendency to avoid talking about their faults, thinking that it means we're speaking ill of them if we do, but making them out to be perfect is not doing them any kindness either. Perfect men never have to overcome mistakes, and it's the men that fight to the last breath to redeem themselves for a lapse in judgment who are the most honorable. Too many men make mistakes and simply shrug it off, saying 'Oh well, mistake made. There's no way I can undo it.' But that wasn't your brother. He made mistakes, but in the end, he gave everything to rectify it. And there's nothing more honorable than a man who rights his wrongs."

I turned sideways from the wall, standing straight and looking Faramir determinedly in the eye as I continued. Resolute to show him with my own gaze the voracity of my belief in what I was telling him. "Your brother _did _try to take the ring from the ringbearer. But when the temptation was removed from him, he was instantly overcome with regret and grief. He could not atone himself to Frodo for his actions, but he could atone himself to Frodo's cousins and do his best to defend and shield them from the Orcs coming to take them. He fought valiantly even when he had been pierced by many arrows, and he died with his honor restored."

Faramir looked away, trying to shield the tears in his eyes from my sight as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Boromir was indeed an honorable man who shall be sorely missed in leading this battle in the days to come."

At the raw pain in his voice, I laid my hand on his folded arms in comfort, and was once again privy to the tormented thoughts in his mind.

_Do you wish then that our places had been exchanged? _Faramir had whispered to his father.

_Yes, I wish that indeed, _Denethor had viscously returned. _For Boromir was loyal to me and no wizard's pupil. He would have remembered his father's need, and would not have squandered what fortune gave. He would have brought me a mighty gift._

I let out a shuddering sigh at his guilt and inner torment, jerking my hand away from his arm to break contact.

"I know you let Frodo and Sam go, Faramir, and whatever second-thoughts or doubts you're having, and no matter what seeds of doubt your father plants in your mind, you made the right choice. Bringing that thing to this city would have ended in disaster. For everyone."

Faramir jerked his head around as he stood straight. Nearly the height of his own brother, he towered over me. "You speak as though you know my very thoughts," he stated, surprising me that though there was suspicion, there hadn't been any accusation or condemnation in his tone.

"I've heard that before. A woman's intuition, I suppose." _Yeah, just this woman's._

"Nay, 'tis more than mere intuition."

I looked away, tired, and partly angry with myself for having felt the need to comfort Faramir's anguish. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have given myself away so easily.

Too tired to keep up pretenses, I gave a long sigh. "No. More than mere intuition," I agreed. I leaned back against the wall as Faramir previously had been, facing the stone city.

"Your brother gave me his fur-lined cloak when I crossed over Caradhras and the others went under the mountain through Moria," I told Faramir, startling him by the seemingly sudden change in subject. Nevertheless, he mimicked my posture and returned to leaning his back against the low wall, looking back towards the city as I did. It made it easier to continue without looking into a face so reminiscent of Boromir.

"The mountain pass was freezing and it never stopped snowing," I continued, "as you can well imagine living near these mountains," I said, gesturing before us to the very one this city was built into. "And I wasn't dressed quite properly for such a cold journey. I would have surely died if not for your brother's generosity."

Silence lapsed for a few moments, but Faramir didn't press me on where I was going with my story.

"He struggled with the pull of the ring for so long before he succumbed to its call at Amon Hen that day. It taunted him with nightmarish visions of his beloved city falling, of his people and city turning to ruin. It tantalized him with promises that if he took the ring, he could protect his family, people, and city. His love for you all was his doom in the end. Though I can think of no finer doom than his."

"You say that the ring taunted him with these things, made him promises, yet, I know my brother, he was not one to burden others with his own troubles and struggles," Faramir responded, finally turning his head to regard me.

I answered the unasked question. "No, he wasn't one to do so. Though, once, I was finally able to get him to admit to some of it."

"Then how did you know all these things?" he pressed.

"I saw them in his mind. Heard the whispers of the ring echoing in his thoughts just as I heard the echoes of your father's words in your own mind."

Silence lapsed again. I was amazed that Faramir didn't turn to me in anger or suspicion or revulsion. As others before him had.

Finally, I continued, trying to articulate why I had decided to tell Faramir what I had. "I can't help but think things might have been different for Boromir if he hadn't had to shoulder his burden alone. If I had told him I knew what was in his mind, perhaps I could have helped him resist the taunts of the ring. He was a proud man, he never would have asked for help, but if I'd given it anyway, I could have at least helped him talk through the guilt that was plaguing his conscience. Perhaps he wouldn't have descended so far before finally falling. I can't help but feel I could have done _something_ for him. Something to repay all that he did for me." I had known at the time all the reasons for why he had to descend into madness and set Frodo on his path, but looking now at his grieving brother, I couldn't help but wish I had acted differently.

"So to assuage your apparent guilt over my brother's downfall, you admit to me that you hear the thoughts of others?" A look flashed across his face I couldn't name, but it was there and gone so quickly.

I nodded. "I could have and should have done something more for your brother. I know this doesn't change anything, except to show you that I _am _sorry for what happened, and do regret my choices."

He laughed. A bittersweet sound. "Perhaps you came to know my brother, yet I think I knew him better. Even had you shared with him this truth, he would not have allowed you to help him bear his troubles. You are correct, he was a proud man, as proud as any I have known, and if he had realized you saw the turns of his mind, I fear you would have only brought him to feel more shame."

"_You_ know I hear your thoughts," I pointed out.

"Perhaps I am less proud a man than my brother," he bitterly rejoined.

"The three of you are more alike than you would guess," I informed him with a chuckle. "All honorable men, though honorable and wise in your own ways. You and your father are more alike than either of you realize, too."

He frowned, obviously dubious and skeptical of my words.

"You are. Your father is hard on you in his grief, and I'll admit that he's wrong to do so, but grief rarely listens to right and wrong. Boromir was obviously his favorite, but mostly it's because a part of his mind knows how very much you two are alike. Even if neither of you can see it. It's what makes Boromir his favorite. The one that was different from him, the one he wishes in many ways he could be more like. Oh, Boromir had his faults, and even Denethor knows that, too bold and reckless for start, but a part of Denethor admires those differences. I'm sure deep down there's a lot about himself that Denethor wishes he could change, and as a father, I'm sure it terrifies him to think that you might become even more like him—especially his faults. That's a lot of why he pushes you away, trying to keep you at a distance from his own faults."

"You are perceptive, though I am uncertain how much of what you say I deem to be certain," Faramir thoughtfully replied.

I waved it away. "That's fine. It's hard to see things about ourselves and our family the way others do. But having been cursed with hearing the thoughts of others does give me perspectives others rarely see."

He looked startled at the word cursed.

"No, I'm not cursed by some evil being or anything. I was born this way, just my own burden to bear. But it does allow me to see things about people that even they themselves don't want seen. You, for example," I said, flicking my fingers in his direction, "are so very much like your father. He used his grief over Boromir to get more information out of both Pippin and me than I ever expected. And you're no different. You were going to seek me out, intending to find out about me what your father hadn't been able to and succeeding admirably, wrapping yourself in your grief over Boromir until I couldn't help but give myself away trying to comfort you. That's what that look I saw several moments ago had been: satisfaction."

"My grief is neither a cheap ploy nor façade," Faramir argued.

"Oh, I'm not saying it is. But you're as crafty as your father, using it to your advantage. Perhaps craftier in many ways. You got out of me more than he did." Though, blessedly, I hadn't told him that I knew or could "see" the future.

"Question is," I continued, "what are you going to do with this information now?"

His face closed off and became expressionless as he thought. I could have dipped into his thoughts, but decided I wanted to hear his words first.

"Could this strange ability help in the battle to come? Or perhaps aid us in knowing the enemy's plans?"

It was a cold, calculating question, but I couldn't blame him for it. Had anyone in the Marines known, they'd have had questions that were far more calculating and many cold plans designed for me.

"Probably not," I truthfully told him. "It's not of much use once the battle starts; battle is too chaotic by nature for mind reading to be useful. And I don't have the range to read thoughts more than about half-a-mile away, and even then, I don't understand the Black Speech of Mordor or any of the languages of the Easterlings or the Haradrim to be of use in that way. Besides, picking out one voice to listen to over any distance in a sea of voices is nearly impossible."

He nodded, as if he had assumed much the same. "Then I see no need to speak of this to any other, not even my father, though he may deem me a lesser man for doing so. It is a secret you obviously guard preciously if you did not even speak it to Boromir for whom you obviously had some love. I am still uncertain as to why you chose to speak them to me."

I looked at Faramir in surprise. "Love? I loved your brother as a friend, but no more than that." He let one brow rise in challenge. "Truly. I loved him as a friend and comrade. But not in the way one loves a lover. And you're not a lesser man, Faramir, even if your father cannot bring himself to admit it aloud."

I expected him to shy away uncomfortably from the subject of love and lovers, as any other man would have, but he surprised me, dipping his head as he spoke with ease. "There is one you do feel love for as a lover does. I can hear the longing in your voice. Where is this man? He must be most unlike the men I have known to so allow you to arm yourself so and go about unfettered in times of such darkness."

Choking back a laugh, and unconsciously spinning the ring on my left hand, I explained, "No, he's not like any man. But he knows better than to put such restraints on my movements or choices. Or, at least he's learning. He'll arrive before this coming battle has ended." Faramir glanced knowingly at the ring I idly twisted, but did not press further. For which I was grateful.

Silence lapsed again.

"Is your man going to be alright?"

Faramir jerked his head down once. "They tell me he lost some blood, and they shall know better by morn what his fate shall be, yet they are quite optimistic. I give you my thanks for tending to him and bringing him safely to the Houses of Healing."

"Any time," I offered companionably.

"Tell me of when Boromir fell," he suddenly requested. "I know you have once told of it already, but you spoke not of yourself. I feel that there is more to the story than told, much concerning yourself I gather."

"I was there at Amon Hen when he died, and fought beside him while I could," I admitted with a jerk of my head. "And tried to push him from the path of the first arrow that sought to strike him, and did do so. Unfortunately, your brother was far larger than I am, and I fear I did not push him nearly hard enough to accomplish my task fully. He regained his balance and stepped in front of me to block my own body from the arrows. I wish there had been time to tell him that those arrows hadn't been aimed for me, but for him, and he was struck again twice before I could regain my feet to reach him. We both knew with a glance that the wounds were mortal, so he told me to turn away and protect the hobbits, and then turned to cover our retreat. I left and chose to follow his last wish."

"Then he died well," Faramir breathed with a deep exhale, his eyes tearing slightly again. "And he would have been proud that you followed his last command."

Placing my hand comfortingly on his arm—and bracing my barriers against more unwanted thoughts—I said, "I miss Boromir very much."

My admission seemed to be the sign of approval for him to admit likewise. Reaching out, he covered my hand on his arm with one of his own callused hands. "I miss my brother very much as well," he whispered to the night, not meeting my eyes but squeezing my hand.

Two near strangers shared a moment of comfort that night for the death of the man they had in common. And yet, I never knew that that moment on the wall would be the last I looked into Faramir's eyes before I passed through the veil.

* * *

The next day passed as the one before had, with only the anxiety ratcheting up to mark the difference as we all waited for the enemy to come. Or for the Riders of Rohan to arrive.

Faramir had been sent out that morning for Osgiliath on an ill-conceived attempt to regain the ruined city. I had not the stomach or heart to watch him ride out, so I remained fitfully pacing within my rooms while Nethiel watched, waiting for Faramir to return to the city.

And that day bled into another. Waiting was becoming the bane of my trip to Gondor. I almost wished now I had demanded to stay with the others, riding with the Rohirrim or even braving the ghosts with Aragorn seemed preferable to the endless waiting and nail biting.

When news came that Faramir and his men had been routed at Osgiliath, and were now facing numbers ten times their own, Gandalf rode out again to offer them what aid he could. Yet, he returned some time later, saying he'd done what he could, leaving Faramir to bring his men when he was able, and then leaving to take counsel with Denethor.

I paced about my room and along the walls of the city, aching to finally throw myself into some sort of action, tired of waiting for it to come to me. So when the call came for the riders of Dol Amroth to join their prince in the sortie to give Faramir cover, I too saddled my horse and rode for the gates where their cavalry waited.

"What foolish plan is this, Lane?" Gandalf's voice asked from behind me.

I swiveled in the saddle to see him approaching me on foot, his hands gripping his staff and looking years older than the last time I'd seen him.

"I'm riding out," I simply answered.

"This is foolhardy," the wizard sadly stated, though I noticed he didn't try to forbid me.

"Perhaps. But I can't sit in this city on my hands, waiting for the coming battle. I would rather ride out to meet it, even if I am only accomplishing giving small aid in seeing Faramir and his remaining men back to the city." I pulled my hood further forward as I spoke, concealing my gender as best I could. My helmet from the battle at the Deep was still in my room with my pack, but I didn't not want its bulk obscuring any of my vision as I rode anyway.

Gandalf sighed wearily and tired again, "This is the duty of those under the banner of Dol Amroth. It is not your place to ride with them."

"I have no banner to ride under, Gandalf. I ride where I choose."

"Legolas will be devastated should ill befall you here, and I admit to having a begrudging fondness for you myself," the wizard offered with a sad smile. I could see in that smile that he'd come to have a begrudging fondness for many in this time. Many for whom he feared their fates.

"I'll be fine, Gandalf," I gently offered, touched by his words. "I didn't ride this far to die now. I'll be here when Legolas and the others finally arrive. Or damn the fates that try to bring me low."

He laughed at that, his eyes losing some of the burden in them. "I cannot command you any more than any lord in these lands, I fear. So I offer only wishes that you ride safely, and let no dark blade or arrow find you."

The trumpet called loud and clear, the signal for the horses around me to ride out onto the field. I held Lightfoot back a moment, though he eagerly rocked back on his back legs, raising his front legs briefly aloft from the ground as I called down to Gandalf over the din, "There are no better wishes to offer than those!" And I gave Lightfoot his head, feeling his front feet drop to the ground as he leapt forward and letting him carry us onto the field.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I decided to cut things off there. The action of battle and more to come!

I also keep forgetting to answer a question from a while back that came in an anonymous review, and since I can't answer them directly as I normally would, I'll answer here. The question was what kind of corgis I raise, since I'd mentioned them previously, and I actually raise Pembroke Welsh Corgis. I keep my breeding business small, only two females and a male at a time. More than that and I just doubt they'd get the time and attention from me they deserve! But they're fun little buggers and I love them!

Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews, and keep letting me know what you think!


	4. The Woman I Am

**Chapter 4: The Woman I Am**

If I had worried that the riders from Dol Amroth might notice a woman joining their charge, it was certainly a misplaced fear. Prince Imrahil's cavalry was focused with deadly intent on their appointed task. Though trumpets announced our charge, none of Imrahil's men took up a battle cry. With that same single-minded focus, they pushed on to the south as hard as their mounts would carry them, eagerly leaning forward in their saddles.

Lightfoot had obviously well recovered from our long ride to Gondor and now leaned hard into his bit, straining at my arms and yearning to fully stretch his legs to outdistance the Gondorian mounts, but with a firm hand, I held the gelding back, maintaining my place in the charge.

Only as we crossed the dried brown grasses of the Pelennor and were almost upon the melee of Faramir's soldiers and Sauron's did the soldiers around me begin to let loose their battle cries. The Southrons turned at our call and split their forces to combat both Faramir's men and ours. Faramir's men took up the same battle cries, soldiers once again heartened and finding renewed strength to fight.

But even with our now combined forces, it wouldn't be enough. More Southrons advanced from the overrun Osgiliath, and worse yet, one of the Black Riders, the very Witch-king of Angmar, led the Southrons who had been sent against Faramir.

Lightfoot had faithfully charged into the melee at my urging, turning and wheeling under my hand to face each oncoming Southron.

With the first Southron I had cut down, I knew this kill and this battle would linger in my heart. I'd killed many men in my own world, but always from a distance. Never while looking into their eyes. Seeing into their souls it seemed.

Even in the battles I'd thus far seen in Middle-earth, I'd fought Orcs and Uruk-hai, and though I knew some of my arrows had found Dunderlings when I fought at Helm's Deep, I had not battled them hand to hand and looked into their eyes as they dulled of life.

Ironically, as my body fought almost on autopilot, I remembered Legolas's words to me in Lórien and how he had urged me not to join Haldir's men in battle there. He had warned me that battle in this world would not be what I was used to. He'd been right then. And his words proved to be right still.

But my resolve was as strong now as it had been under the winter-bare trees of Lothlórien. Perhaps even stronger. For now, I truly did consider this world my own. And I knew I would sacrifice more for the fate of it than I'd even been called to give even in my previous world.

The chilling act of slaying men and not merely beasts I knew would stalk my nightmares later, but I pushed the horror down, tamping it deep within myself only to arise again when I had helped to finish our task.

A jolting hit suddenly glanced off my exposed left side as I plunged my sword through a Southron into the vulnerable armor at the base of his neck with my right arm. I turned my attention to the Southron on my left; he had only caught me with a glancing blow at the tip of his extended swing, but was stepping closer to rectify his near miss.

In a split-second decision, I dropped the reins in my left hand, thankful they were one continuous rein and not split reins, and tossed my sword up through the air over Lightfoot's arched neck. With my left hand turning to grasp the sword in an overhand grip, I spun the blade back towards my flank to catch the advancing Southron in the same downward thrust that pierced through the base of his neck.

"Pull back! Pull back to Minas Tirith!"

As the call rang out, I looked up and around. The riders of Dol Amroth were helping wounded soldiers of Gondor to their horses and even pulling some onto their own mounts with them.

Prince Imrahil himself was only a dozen yards from me, pulling a wounded man from the hands of another onto his horse in front of him. The injured man's head fell limply back against the prince's shoulder and the sandy hair fell away to reveal Faramir's slack face. He'd been struck by an arrow and was coated in both bright red and older dark red blood, his skin so pale his veins and arteries stood out in stark contrast, only instead of blue tinged, they were darkened to nearly black, the ghastly result of the Witch-king's black breath.

Loud thwacks rang out as arrows landed all around us, many striking with a wet and meaty sound as they stuck both man and horse. Lightfoot danced nervously beneath me, but no arrow struck us as other horses and men were felled all around.

"Pull back!" the cry rang out again, stronger in its intensity this time.

"Give me your hand!" I shouted to a soldier bearing the White Tree on his uniform. The man had just struggled to his feet, pulling himself from beneath his still horse a few yards from me.

The man turned to face me, and I saw the red dribbling down his right leg, whether from a previous wound or his horse falling upon it I didn't know.

Taking three quick hobbles, he started to hold his left hand out to me, hesitating for a brief moment when he realized his would-be rescuer had different plumbing than him.

Tossing my sword back to my right hand, I reached out with my left. "You can either accept a woman's hand or see if the Southrons are more to your liking! Your choice!"

The hesitation fled his face. He grabbed my outstretched arm as I began urging Lightfoot past him, using the horse's momentum and our combined upper-body strength to swing him up behind me.

True to his naming, Lightfoot reached a dead run in three short bounds, running straight and true by the time I had the wounded soldier secured behind me and again picked up the reins.

Several riders likewise burdened were already ahead of us, so I followed their path back to Minas Tirith, only briefly glancing over my shoulder to peer around my wounded companion and seeing that the rest of the riders appeared to be pushing along behind us.

We all slowed as we reached the city and rushed through the open gate. Soldiers of Gondor were clustered there to take the wounded, bearing them away by litter and cart to the Houses of Healing. My own companion slid carefully down from behind me when I pulled my gelding to a stop near one of the carts.

A young healer slung the soldier's arm over his shoulders to help bear his weight, but the wounded soldier hesitated, stalling the healer as he stared up at me. I could see the hesitation there and his struggle for what to say. To a woman no less.

I jerked my head down in a single nod, needing no words. "You're welcome." I turned my horse away and rode a little ways apart, watching the influx of the other soldiers trailing into the city.

"Faramir! Faramir!" came the cry as Prince Imrahil bore his nephew through the gates before him, slack and limp.

The prince didn't stop at the clusters of healers and soldiers, but instead carried him straight up the winding roads to the citadel.

A resounding thud sounded as the gates were heavily shut after the last of the riders and those soldiers that had held the way from Anórien had passed through. Ingold and his men were among them, but I paid the men we'd first spoken to upon our entry into Gondor no heed. The echoing sound of the closing gate shook me from my immobility, and I slid from the back of Lightfoot's prancing and coiled form. I whispered calming words to him, hoping to sooth and calm the battle-adrenaline that still coursed through him. My own seemed to have fled as I sat and watched Faramir and all the other wounded soldiers brought in.

As I stepped away, I felt the dull ache in my side, reminding me of the glancing blow on my left. I looked down to see my shirt torn, but no blood. Peering through the fabric, I saw that the chainmail I'd acquired in Rohan had done its job. A bruise would likely form there, but bruises faded far quicker than a wound from having my side sliced open would have healed. I still doubted just how strong the chainmail might be to a direct hit, but I certainly wasn't complaining about having the added bulk at the moment.

I glanced back at the soldiers and healers bearing the wounded away as I continued walking up the winding streets, whispering lowly to Lightfoot, "Those men would have been better served in the battle that will come to the city's doorstep instead of charging impotently at a greater force to retake already lost ground. Too much was lost here, and nothing gained."

* * *

I watched from outside my rooms, the large doors to my balcony thrown open as I stood there, leaning on the balcony wall and looking out over the field.

Orange glows still littered the Pelennor where the enemy had lit field and tree, burning and hewing any living thing and even the dead they came across throughout the night since we returned to the city. The enemy had crossed the river, spreading and circling around us. And today they were digging in, extending trenches around the city walls.

Even in my room up above the city, I could hear with both mind and ear the distraught calls and thoughts of the Gondorians. Their lament that Rohan would not come, and could not reach us now if they did, passed from nearly every mind and mouth.

I knew the Riders of Rohan would come, but it was difficult to remind myself of that with all the weighty doubts burdening my senses.

"They will come," I whispered to assure myself. "They will."

"My lady," a timid voice called behind me.

I turned to see Nethiel's downturned face behind me as she filled the open doorway to the small stone balcony. I tossed an arm out to gesture she could join me on the balcony, which, though small—only extending a few feet away from the walls—did afford plenty of room for her to join me in my vigil of the enemy's progress.

"You are requested at the Citadel by the Steward," she intoned, barely above a whisper, her head still turned down and not moving any closer. I could feel her fear. Though at the enemy now setting up positions all around us or at Denethor's summons I couldn't say.

"What does the Steward want with me?" I wondered. "And why now of all times?"

"I cannot say, my lady. Only that I was sent to fetch you and see that you were properly dressed for meeting the steward," she demurred.

"'Properly dressed,'" I repeated, glancing down at the untucked linen shirt and pants of this world that I was finally becoming accustomed to. "Just what the hell does that mean? And what's it matter?"

I doubted Nethiel understood all my words, but she hastily explained, "I cannot answer, my lady. My orders are all I can speak to."

Nethiel turned back towards the room as I walked towards her, my bare feet betraying only the barest scuffle as I walked. I watched with absent amusement as the girl threw open the doors to a tall oak wardrobe and began fluffing bits of skirts out for my inspection.

"Which would you prefer to dress in?" she asked, not turning away from the swaths of fabric she fluffed. "I had not time to see proper dresses were made for you of course, but I have found several that shall fit more than adequately with only slight alterations for fit."

My arms crossed stubbornly over my chest. "And what I'm wearing right now fits just fine, too. I'm quite comfortable in fact."

The girl finally cast a sneaking glance over her shoulder at me. "You wear fewer clothes than even the women who sell their bodies for payment," she muttered. Instantly she seemed to realize she'd spoken out loud and clasped a hand over her horrified expression. For several moments, she seemed torn between fleeing the room in horror and falling to her knees to beg forgiveness.

I laughed and waved it away, wondering passingly if I wasn't actually a bad influence on the girl with my own flippant remarks. But then, I pictured what the girl would think if she saw the bathing suits of my country, and failed to bite back a wide grin.

"Why do I have to wear a dress?" I tried again, gesturing with my hand at the open wardrobe.

"It is only proper for an audience with the steward," she responded, seeming overjoyed not to be beheaded on the spot for her comment.

_Am I really that terrifying to the poor girl? _I wondered to myself.

She worried her lip as she stared up at me through lowered lashes, actually seeming truly terrified. I let my barriers slip a bit to catch her thoughts, worried for the first time that she really _was _terrified of me.

_What shall I do if she shall not wear one of the dresses I have been instructed to see she dons? She is a lady! I cannot make any sorts of demands of her. But my orders were explicit!_

I continued to ignore the _lady _crap, and pulled away from her thoughts with a weary sigh, stepping closer to examine the dresses she'd brought. I might not like it, but I wasn't going to get the poor girl into trouble just because I didn't like something.

The dresses were all beautiful but frothy things—at least to my eyes. So wholly different from the dresses I'd worn in my own world. I _had _been known to wear them from time to time. But contrary to this world, I hadn't worn them to display my femininity, but rather to display and highlight my assets. But it wasn't dancing or clubbing I was being drug to by someone, and not even a bed-partner I was hoping to attract for the night. Instead, I was in Middle-earth—Minas Tirith no less—being requested by the Steward himself.

_When did I get so lucky?_ I grumbled to myself.

I pulled out and rejected every dress on the first pass through the selection, finding some flaw with the possibility of wearing each of them. With every dress, it would either display too much of the skin on my back or chest. But I had to choose one of them. _Too bad the fashion of Gondor couldn't be high-necked Victorian creations or even nun fashion. Ugly, but at least they'd hide my scars. _

Finally, I settled on a dress that would display only a modest portion of my décolletage and the scars crisscrossing my collarbones. Thankfully, its back was high, hiding far worse scars there. Nethiel was once more put out when I insisted on dressing myself alone, but silently walked into the other room at my command.

Once the dress—and several layers of thick underskirts—was on, I called Nethiel back in to help me tighten the laces that cinched up the back of the dress. I was sure there was a way to do it myself, but damned if I could figure it out. Nethiel grunted as she strained at the gold colored laces, stretching the green velvet material around my torso, breasts, and hips, pulling the beautiful fabric tight around my curves until even I had to admit to the flattering cut of the dress.

But—"Damn Nethiel, am I supposed to be able to breathe?" I gasped. "How the hell is a little thing like you so strong?"

"It must be tight to hold and form to your figure. You have a lovely profile when it is not masked by the trappings of a man's clothing."

"Yeah, and throw on a pair of stiletto heels, tight jeans, and my ass could bounce a quarter," I growled lowly. "And then I would still be able to breathe."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. Just tell me that's the last tug or I'm cutting myself outa this thing and going back to plan A."

"It tis," she assured me as she began tying to laces at the small of my back. "Come, sit, I shall quickly style your hair and then you shall be ready to appear before the steward."

She pulled a chair away from a mirrored vanity and gestured me into it.

"Sure, I'm mostly helpless when it comes to doing much with hair. Blow dry straight or air dry curly are my major feats."

She made a polite noise, but I didn't think she understood my words. Not that I wasn't getting painfully used to it.

I closed my eyes as she worked, amazed at how gently and quickly she moved, not once pulling or tugging at the messy mop on my head, but seeming to zip around behind me nevertheless. As I lightly dozed, I considered why Denethor was requesting my presence. I'd assumed he would remain by Faramir's side keeping vigil and seeing no one. In truth, since the moment I'd reentered the city with the cavalry of Dol Amroth, I had figured I'd never again see the last of the Stewards before he succumbed to his madness and grief. But now, he was calling me to him. What could he want? Did he think he could get more information out of me? Or had he seen something about me when he gazed into the palantír one last time after Faramir was carried back to him?

"You are ready," Nethiel announced.

My eyes snapped open as I stood with a stretch that was cut short when my deep inhale was choked by the restricting bodice. I cursed under my breath as Nethiel gestured to the mirrored vanity. Stepping in front of it, I was shocked by the image it reflected.

"Wow, I can hardly believe that's me," I whispered. "You do fantastic work styling hair, Nethiel." The compliment was honest and heartfelt. I'd never seen that red mop of hair so elegantly styled. Nethiel had obviously used a curler heated in the fireplace to curl beautiful ringlets in my hair where many portions of the long strands hung down. My hair had grown longer than I'd realized as well. The rest of the thick hair she pulled back and twisted almost like a French-twist so it was held back and up from my face and neck.

Yet it was more than just the hair that transformed the figure in the mirror. The dress was exquisite too. It had seemed pretty hanging in the wardrobe, but stretched across my chest, waist, and hips; it almost made me seem like a completely different woman. Or perhaps wholly a woman for the first time in a very long time.

The green velvet was fitted in the bodice, down my arms, and across my hips. Only past my hips and wrists did it open and flare. The skirts were thick and heavy, but what seemed old-fashioned to my sensibilities seemed at the same time full and regal as well. The sleeves were skintight to the wrists where they opened in bell sleeves that trailed under my palms down several inches past my fingertips. The green of the velvet was deep and rich, offset by the equally rich gold trimmings of a belted cord at my waist and gold leaves embroidered into the sleeves and along the hem of the skirt. I smiled wistfully in fond remembrance of Lórien at the sight of those little leaves.

"Thank you, Nethiel. You've done a wonderful job, better than I could have ever dreamed of."

She curtsied as she hid a blush. "Come, you must meet with the steward; he shall be expecting you," she reminded, speaking to the floor as she remained crouched in her curtsey.

"Right. Of course," I sighed. "Mustn't keep him waiting."

I cast a lingering look at my weapons piled on a chair by my bed. I fleetingly wondered if I could hide a knife somewhere under my dress, but rejected the humorous images of me trying to fish it out from under the layers of skirt or jabbing myself if I tried to hide it in my cleavage. But it was an awfully naked feeling to walk through the door with no weapon at all.

Surprisingly, there was a Citadel Guard waiting in the hall to escort me. _Guess the dress means I've automatically dropped 50 IQ points and will wander the halls aimlessly without a man to cling to and show me the way, _I couldn't help snidely thinking.

But I paused in the open doorway and told Nethiel, "No sense you staying here and continuing to wait on me. The battle will start soon enough and I'm sure those healer could use you back at the Houses of Healing to run and fetch for them like you'd planned."

"Are you certain?" she asked hesitantly, though stepping cautiously and eagerly closer to the door.

"Yeah, go, I'll see you when this all is over," I assured with a wave.

She nodded and followed me out the door, closing it quietly behind her as she turned and hurried along in the opposite direction my escort was indicating.

The elbow between us he held out for me to grasp, and while I considered pushing it away and striding forward on my own, I steeled myself and plastered a fake smile on my lips as I lightly wrapped a hand around the crook of his offered elbow.

Thankfully, he didn't reach down to close his other hand over my fingers, instead keeping his arm bent and rigid in an impersonal offer of guidance. Although his muteness added to the impersonal feeling as well.

Not that I was complaining. It gave me the moments I needed to corral the awed and giddy feelings I'd been experiencing at the shockingly altered figure I'd seen in the mirror. I needed to stuff that childish giddiness away and remember how important it was to be composed since I was being called before a man both intelligent and quite cunning—even if he was suffering great grief at the moment. Perhaps even more so since he was suffering such grief. I couldn't underestimate him again.

Surprisingly, my silent escort didn't lead me into the Great Hall as I'd expected, deflating my assumption that I didn't need his guidance. Instead, he led me into a hallway off different wing from my own, and rapped lightly on a closed door. A soft "Enter," met us.

My escort relinquished his bent arm and released my hand before opening the door, silently gesturing me inside.

Faramir was laid out on a bed in the center of the room; Denethor slumped over in a chair beside him, absently stroking Faramir's hand as he stared at a spot on the top blanket. He didn't rise as I entered, nor even turn around to acknowledge my presence, simply remained with his back to me while stroking his son's pale hand and staring.

Pippin stood just inside the door, dressed in his Guard of the Citadel livery and casting frantic and surprised looks between Denethor and me. I wasn't sure if he was afraid to break the silence or hoping that I could do something for his lord. But I was certain he was surprised by the sight of me in a dress.

I hesitated briefly just inside the room even after the door had shut behind me. But still, Denethor didn't move or acknowledge me. The room was dimly lit and reeking of medicinal herbs and soap wafting on the air currents. But the room itself had a disinfected feel to it. Nothing personal or homey about it. Just a room with a bed.

Impatient, I tore my attention from the father and looked to the son. Somehow, he seemed even worse than when I'd seen his uncle bear him from the field.

Crossing around the foot of the bed, I went to stand on the other side and gaze down at Faramir. His skin was pale and clammy, the dark veins still standing in stark contrast to his pale skin. Hair that had before seemed a light sandy brown was now darkened almost to chestnut and slick with sweat. He seemed both older and younger than when I'd last seen him. The slackness of his features softening and removing the maturity that strengthened his expression, but the slight grimace of pain on his lips adding back yet more years than ever.

A cloth wet with cool water lay forgotten by his shoulder, and I picked it up, gently dabbing at the sweat shinning on his face.

"I am told you were quite close to my son for many hours when he returned to the city," Denethor suddenly spoke, not looking up from the spot he stared at.

My hands hesitated briefly at his words, but then resumed bathing Faramir's face with the cool cloth. "Yes. He wanted to hear me tell him of his brother's fate. And after, we eased the shared grief for the passing of a man we both cared very much for."

Denethor's eyes finally tracked up to mine as he sat in his chair and stared at me beneath dark lashes, his hand now stilled and gripping his son's. "And did you seek to seduce the new heir to the Stewardship of Gondor now that the first had been slain."

His words were every bit accusation, but strangely, they lacked the heat I might have expected with such claims. Almost as though he was just stating a matter of fact.

"I have no more design on Faramir than I did on your eldest son," I gently explained. "Boromir I counted as a friend and miss as a treasured and competent comrade. Though as a brother, Faramir of course feels the loss more deeply than I. Still, we could share the grief at the loss of so great a soldier as Boromir. And though I knew Faramir for only a moment in time, I count him as a friend as well and pray for his recovery."

The flat affect he'd suffused in his manner and speech finally fled as he dropped Faramir's hand and sprang to his feet, glowering down at me. "_Lies!_" he hissed. "I know you beguiled my eldest and once that prize was removed you moved on to the next in my line. A woman does not stand so intimately with a man she does not have designs on."

The accusation shocked me, but I fought to keep my calm, focusing on bathing the sweat from Faramir's face as I battled my own quick temper. I had never considered that this would be why Denethor had requested my presence. In truth, I hadn't thought about someone seeing me talking with Faramir—or how it would have appeared—or even the remote possibility that such a wild accusation might make its way back to Denethor. Truthfully, I hadn't considered how it might have seemed to Faramir either.

I almost laughed at the ironic idea that the chaste comforting hand I'd offered to Faramir had been convoluted into something intimate. I'd been uncomfortable with Legolas's friendly closeness, handholding and such, and now, when I'd become almost accustomed with it and offered a simple hand of comfort to someone else, it had been thought it too intimate. It wasn't as though I'd hugged or embraced the man, simply placed a comforting hand on his arm as he grieved the loss of his brother.

I glanced at Pippin nervously shifting from foot to foot and wringing his hands by the door, but knew there was nothing the hobbit could do to help handle this situation. "There was nothing intimate about standing with him that night," I calmly argued. "We barely even knew each other, and we only shared a moment of remembrance and mourning with each other. Nothing more."

His eyes narrowed as I looked back at him, his eyes lacking any conviction in my words.

"I never had that kind of love for either of your sons," I continued. Holding up my left hand, I added, "Another holds my heart."

He looked surprised but still glanced wearily back down at his son.

"My betrothed would say that it is intent that makes a touch intimate, and there was no such intent for either Faramir or me that night. Only an offer of comfort for grief."

Denethor continued staring down at Faramir's face as he continued speaking, his words again flat and quiet. "If you are betrothed, why is it you were allowed to ride out with the sortie that went to my son's aid? Who is your betrothed that he would so foolishly allow this thing to happen?"

The corner of my lips ticked up. "He's not yet here. But he'll come to Minas Tirith with the others. And even if he were here, he knows not to order me away from a fight."

Denethor tore his gaze from his son's slack face with visible effort. "You had not his permission and you sought not my own to ride into battle."

I shrugged at the statement, but answered anyway. "I've often found asking for forgiveness is easier than asking for permission."

He waited a beat for me to speak and then continued himself. "Yet you have not asked for this forgiveness."

I gave a minute shake of my head. "Yeah, I'm still working on that part; guess it's the fatal flaw in my plan."

Denethor didn't seem amused. "Then your betrothed is one of the Rohirrim that you still unwisely believe rides to our aid?"

For the first time, an emotion other than anger seeped into his words: despair.

I knew I should probably bite my tongue and say nothing, but I spoke anyway. "The Rohirrim will honor the age-old alliance. They will answer the call and come. But no, my betrothed is not Rohirric nor does he come by that road. He and his companions will come by another."

The steward collapsed bonelessly into his chair again, hunching over wearily as he resumed his former stare and stroking Faramir's hand. "All have forsaken us," he whispered, almost as though he'd forgotten anyone was there.

Tears wet his cheeks as Denethor suddenly became an old man, bent and broken before my very eyes. Wrinkles and creases suddenly becoming apparent where his strength had before disguised them. Nothing was left in him but despair. His plotting, planning, and devising had fled.

"Do not weep, lord," Pippin tried to comfort him as he stepped up behind his lord. "Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?"

"Comfort me not with wizards!" Denethor cried. "The fool's hope has failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous.

"I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out."

"It is not ruinous yet, my lord," I tried. "Faramir yet lives. You have wronged him yes, but do not repay the misdeed by giving up all hope. Rally your people; prepare for War!"

Anger again snapped in eyes that glared up at mine. "You are a foreign woman of foreign dress and speech. What does the likes of a woman who would so ensnare any man she encounters know about matters of War? A harlot does not see past her next conquest. She cannot even see the world crumbling about her."

I dropped the cloth beside Faramir and leaned down across him to speak angrily at his father. "Don't presume that just because you've been shown a few images that the Enemy _wants_ you to see, that you know what's actually happening out there. There is more at work than you realize, and your people are stout and hearty, ready and willing to fight to the death if need be, but abandoned by the one who should be leading them because you don't have the same heart as them to stand up and meet whatever fate the Enemy thinks he's going to dish out here."

"I've seen more than a child like you can comprehend," he growled back.

"The problem is you don't comprehend how _little _you've seen," I spit back just as fiercely. I hated that I was standing here in a dress. Somehow, my usual clothes made me feel stronger, as though by disguising my femininity, I could appear as a man in my opponent's eyes, or at least as an equal.

"_Leave!_" Denethor hissed. Raising his voice he called, "Remove her at once."

The door opened, revealing my escort silhouetted in the doorway by the light spilling in from the hallway.

I shoved my anger down, frustrated with myself for letting it get to the point where we were both so angrily snapping at and pushing each other's buttons.

Looking down at Faramir, I whispered more calmly to his father, "Your son is stronger than you know. I'll pray for his strength and recovery."

"_Leave!_" he repeated.

Pippin glanced desperately at me, but I silently shook my head. I'd made a mess of things and could help him no more.

My silent escort started into the room towards me, but I walked out under my own power before he could muscle me out. He didn't offer a courteous elbow to me this time, instead clamping his hand on my shoulder as he pushed more than led me to my quarters.

I was fuming mad as I walked. Fuming at Denethor's absolute despair, fuming at the anger I'd failed to keep in check and allowed to become so uncontrolled, and fuming at everything in this situation. Fuming mostly at what I knew Faramir had yet to go through. Pippin too for that matter.

I was so fuming, that I nearly failed to notice that my silent guard's thoughts were not nearly as silent as he was. We were reaching my door before I caught the echoes of Denethor's orders in his mind. And by then, it was too late.


	5. Holding On

**Chapter 5: Holding On**

I was shoved forward through the door before I could resist, my feet tangling in the swathes of skirt as I tripped and struggled to keep from tumbling to the ground. By the time I had spun back to the door, it had shut and the lock been thrown with an audible click. My fingers twisted uselessly at the knob, not budging the door one bit.

Crouching low, I examined the plate around the doorknob, but realized the door locked only from the outside, not even a skeleton keyhole showing on this side of the door.

Becoming more frantic, I stood and felt desperately along the other edge of the door, but to my panic, these weren't removable pins in the hinges that I could pull out. With a sledgehammer, I might be able to break the heavy iron hinges, or with a battering ram break down the solid-wood door. But I had neither.

And I was stuck here.

Stuck with no way out.

_No, can't be stuck, have to find a way out. Have to get out!_

My breathing became shallower with every inhale. My vision spinning as I exhaled in shallow pants, the cursed dress so tight around my body that I couldn't draw air in properly.

My panic only heightened as I stumbled towards the bed, falling to my knees as I fumbled desperately at my heap of weapons, sending them careening across the floor as I pawed through them for my knife.

The stone walls around me darkened, changing from light gray cut-stone to the dimly lit dewy rocks that still haunted me.

"No, I got out of that cave," I gasped to myself, trying to convince my own mind. My vision darkened more, the close air of the cave closing around me. "I have to get out of here! I won't die in this Godforsaken cave!" I cried desperately.

Though my vision seemed to darken and become sightless as I panted shallowly, my fingers instantly recognized the feel of the jackknife I'd carried from my own world. Numb fingers flicked it open and hacked at the serpent tightening around my chest. Hacking until I'd cut it to pieces all the way down to my naval.

Drawing great shuddering breaths at last, I fell backwards on my butt, leaning my back against something solid as tears raced down my cold skin. Shudders continued to wrack me as I rocked slightly front to back, one hand pressed to my chest as my other hand clung desperately to my knife. My lifeline and protection.

Finally, the shudders passed and my tears dried. My vision was again clear as I stared bleakly across the room I was stuck in. It wasn't the cave in North Korea. It was my rooms in Minas Tirith. Rooms I had been locked in. _Stuck with no way out._

Feeling the panic starting to rise again, I sprang to my feet and threw my weight at the flimsy doors to the small balcony. I didn't bother trying to fumble with the latch, simply shouldered into the door and broke the small latch, the doors flying open and offering me the freedom of fresh air and the sky.

"I'm okay. I'm alright," I whispered to myself. "I may be stuck here, but this isn't like that cave in North Korea. Much bigger and I can at least see the sky."

I took several deep breaths. Still too off-balanced to meditate or anything useful, but I focused the military portion of my mind, going through my options.

"Even in his grief, Denethor has some kind of courteous sense of chivalry which he thinks he's best serving by locking me in here for my safety. If he can think that much through when all he felt was despair, I can figure out how to get out of this room even when all I feel is panic."

I was leaning heavily against the wall of the balcony my hands braced wide upon the cool stone, my eyes closed as I tried to stave off another panic attack. But I heard the wet thwacks of something dripping. Opening my eyes, I saw red drops falling onto the stone and running down the side of the wall.

"What the hell?" I muttered, looking down at my chest.

The previously beautiful green velvet creation was hacked unevenly down past my bellybutton and waist, thrown open and exposing most of my chest and torso. Not that there was anyone there to see anything. But several gashes marred my chest and stomach were I'd wildly and blindly cut away at the fabric.

I gingerly touched the one that seemed to be bleeding the most, it stung, but was shallow. I pulled one of the underskirts off and pressed it to my chest as I pushed the dress over my shoulders, letting it fall and hang limply down the backs of my legs at my waist.

_Here I am, standing topless on a balcony in Minas Tirith._ I threw back my head and laughed loudly at the thought. _Who would have ever imagined such a thing? Been topless on a lot of beaches, but here in the White City? No one from my old world would have believed something so ridiculous. _

But the panic that had tightened my chest finally fled. Still clutching the underskirt to my chest, I looked over the balcony wall and down the outer wall of the Citadel. A narrow ledge, perhaps no more than an inch, ran along at the same height where balconies occasionally dotted some of the windows in the rooms to either side of my own.

Plan in mind—even if it was perhaps the craziest of all my escape plans—I walked back into my room and began changing.

When I pulled the underskirt from my chest, it was dotted and in some places deeply colored with red, but the wounds on my chest mostly seemed to have stopped bleeding. Tearing another of the underskirts into strips, I wrapped them around my torso. The cuts were still tender, but the strips would help to keep the gashes clean.

My hair had partially fallen down in my mad panic, but I didn't have time to comb through and tame the once elegant curls Nethiel had styled. So I yanked the hair back into an economical ponytail and tied it tightly in place with a leather thong.

Finally dressed, I gathered up the weapons I'd previously scattered across the floor. I held my pack loosely in my hand, but eventually left it by my bedside. It would only hinder me. My cloak I fingered as well. It might provide needed warmth through the night, but it too I finally left behind. Whatever warmth it might offer would be offset by the hindrance of its bulk. Besides, I doubted the enemy would allow us to sit on our laurels long enough to feel night's chill. And if they did, I knew the enemy would happily provide fire to heat things back up again.

Thus outfitted, I stood on the balcony considering how to proceed.

"This is probably the dumbest thing I've ever come up with," I muttered to myself. But I couldn't come up with anything else and I wasn't going to remain locked up here.

I finally decided that my plan might be better attempted barefoot. The thick soles of my boots wouldn't allow me much feel of the stone. So shucking my boots and peeling off my socks, I stood on the cold stone considering how to accomplish the next step while still hanging on to my boots.

I realized there was no good way to do it, so I stuffed my socks into my boots and stepped up to the edge of the balcony. Swinging my boots carefully, I finally released them with a strong spurt of energy and watched them sail those twenty feet through the air and neatly clear the lip of the wall on the balcony to Gandalf and Pippin's room. They landed on the stone with a soft thud.

Now came the difficult part. It would have been easier to toss my weapons in the same manner so I wasn't encumbered by them, but I absolutely couldn't risk dropping them. The boots might have survived the fall to the street so far below, but I doubted my weapons would.

After ensuring my bow, quiver, and sword were secured and pushed around to my back, I carefully hopped up to crouch on the balcony wall. I told myself not to look down, but of course, it was too tempting.

I swallowed difficultly past my suddenly dry throat.

"Well, at least way the hell up here at however many stories this is, if I fall, I can pretty much guarantee it'll be an instant death."

The thought somehow didn't comfort me.

One leg after the other carefully extended past the balcony to lower myself down on the narrow ledge. Gripping with my toes and the balls of my feet, I began edging and shuffling across the narrow ledge, my fingers grasping at what bits of stone I could wrap my fingers around.

As I inches across the ledge, the sword in my scabbard swayed with my movements and the gusts of wind, lightly banging into my calves. I cursed not finding a way to strap the blade more securely to my back.

I was halfway across when my nerves finally began to get the best of me and my muscles started quaking. Pausing to catch my breath, I reminded myself, "Just as far back as it is to keep going forward. Buck up and finish this."

Focusing only on the stone in front of me, and where I was next going to place my hands, I continued inching across the stone ledge.

My hands shook as I finally reached the other balcony and heaved myself over the wall, my legs giving out beneath me as I collapsed to the floor of the balcony.

I sat on the cold stone for a long time before I'd gathered myself, still wavering on disbelief that not only had I attempted something so crazy, but that I hadn't fallen to my death.

"Well, can't sit around on cold stone waiting to catch my death of cold."

So I gathered my boots and socks and pulled them on.

The latch on the doors to the balcony was shut, but using my knife, I was able to pop it open and let myself into the room. The room was nearly identical to my own, only lacking the large sitting room my own had. Neither Pippin nor Gandalf were present, but I hadn't expected them to be. The hobbit would still be attending his duties, and the wizard would now have started shouldering the mantle of responsibility in leading the defenses of the city as Denethor had given up his responsibilities.

But the door to their room was mercifully unlocked, and as I carefully pulled it into the room to peer out into the hallway, I saw that my silent guard was still posted outside my room.

_Damn, now what do I do?_

I suddenly regretted leaving my cloak behind. It might have helped to disguise me in slipping past the guard. I eased the door closed and looked around the room, trying to come up with another plan.

A chessboard sat forgotten on a low table near the doors to the balcony, several of the pieces haphazardly scattered on the board and tipped over. I held a pawn in my hand, fingering the smooth white marble. It was a simple plan, but then, the old rule of KISS was often the best. _Keep It Simple Stupid. No problem, I can keep it simple._

Picking up a couple of the pawns, I went to the door and eased it back open. The guard was still there and standing without so much as a twitch of his nose. Perhaps his true calling was as statuary. But at least he wasn't looking my way to take any notice of me.

With a practiced underhand throw, I tossed the pawns strongly through the air, watching them arch over the head of the guard in the peaked ceiling of the hallway. They landed well past the man with a loud clutter, sounding like at least one of the chess pieces had shattered.

As the guard turned in that direction to investigate, I softly and soundlessly fled in the other direction, turning at the first hallway to get out of sight. The hallway was unfamiliar, but after a short jog, I'd gotten my bearings and made my way down to the street in front of the citadel.

I knew it was well into the night now, but for once, my internal clock had lost track of time. How long had I been in Faramir's sick room? How long had I been held in panic? How long had it taken me to make Gandalf and Pippin's room? I couldn't say. Only that it was well into night now and the battle already begun.

The first level of the city burned brightly with fire, but I maintained my course, heading down through the levels of the city where the battle cries roared loudest.

Many men were running up through the levels away from the battle and fire, pandemonium reigning since not all the soldiers seemed to heed Gandalf's orders. But I pushed past them, finally making the lowest level to find the burning heat and blaze of orange fire burning throughout.

Men ran in all directions, throwing water on the fires and some using blankets as they tried to stem the burning tide. I paused, briefly thinking that I should help in the attempt to stop the blaze, but I didn't know how far into the night it was. I didn't know how far into the battle it was or what was happening. So instead, I ran to the outer wall and sprinted up the steps to where archers fired from the ramparts and behind the parapets.

I stepped up to the parapet and looked over the edge. The rampart where I stood was perhaps only fifty feet from the main gate to the city. As I looked up and down the wall, I could see that the soldiers were being spread thin trying to stave off the numerous attacks at all the various points along the wall where Orcs were hurling their efforts.

But I knew it was a diversion. The Enemy's true effort at plowing through Gondor's defenses was inching forward ever nearer to the gate.

It was still a ways off, but in the orange glow lighting the night, I could see all manner of Sauron's evil creatures. Things I'd never before witnessed in any Hollywood imagination or even in my worst dreams. The deep shadows and orange glow of the fires only made the creatures seem more sinister. A sight more appropriate for a Halloween nightmare than a great battle.

"'Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble,'" I muttered to myself. With a pause, I took in the sight of the great trolls finally becoming clearer to my eyes in the darkness. "Somehow I don't think Shakespeare's Three Witches could have held a candle to this sight. I doubt even Hitchcock or Poe could have so darkly imagined this night."

I leaned against the parapet, eyes held captive in horror at watching the trolls bearing and pushing their burden ever forward, inch, by hard fought inch.

Grond. Named for the Hammer of the Underworld.

The machine of the enemy that would for the first time in Gondor's long history breach their great gate.

I shook myself from my stupor, quickly taking in how many soldiers were manning the portion of the ramparts at the gate.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

Too many soldiers were spread out at other points of the wall; the well-planned distractions of the enemy working spectacularly to spread the soldiers thin, pulling them away from defending the gate.

"Send a few men up through the levels to bring those dolts back!" a commanding voice demanded, brooking no argument. "I want those men back on the ramparts manning bows or at the very least helping to fights the blazes in the first level."

I turned to see Prince Imrahil hurrying along the ramparts and passing orders through his aids. Knowing it might be foolish, I stepped in front of the prince anyway.

"My lord, you must regroup these men from their scattered positions along the wall. The bulk of them must be centered at the gate."

He stopped at my words, staring at me without expression. He wasn't a tall man, but even looking me evenly in the eye, I could feel his imposing nature. This was a man used to being obeyed, not questioned. His expression suddenly turned startled, marking the instant he finally saw through the darkness that I was a woman.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a woman, yadda, yadda. Now back to the issue. We need to move men back to defending the gate," I told him, throwing a hand out towards the massive gate.

"My lady, the Gate of Minas Tirith has never been breached. These men are fighting as best they can with so scattered and little direction from their lord." He paused and tilted his head back towards the citadel. "You should not have been in the city; at the very least, you should be ensconced within the safety of the citadel."

I waved it away angrily. "Forget hiding 'safely in the citadel.'" I gestured back towards the sea of creatures on the Pelennor. "That army wants to raze this city to the ground, and they'll do their damnedest to see it done. We've got to work together to stop them and save as many men as we can. _You _need to lead the men. Mithrandir's doing his best, but you know many of the soldiers won't listen to him. They'll listen to _you _though."

He sighed impatiently. "I am attempting my best to rally these men."

My hands pointed insistently at the Enemy's great battering ram coming ever closer: Grond. "That thing is getting closer and closer. It _will _break down the gate if we don't stop it. And if they breach the gate, they'll swarm the city. This city was designed to defend and repel the invaders from outside the wall. It's not designed for ideal defense if they get in. Every level has gates, but they won't withstand much to keep the Enemy detained. We've _got _to focus on stopping that thing before it gets through the outer gate. Let the Orcs hurl themselves at the rest of the wall. It's the main gate we've got to worry most about."

Imrahil stepped forward and leaned his hands heavily along the outer wall as he stared across the distance at the trolls moving Grond ever forward. It had seemed they were only inching the great thing, yet in just the few moments that I'd been turned away, they'd covered a significant distance.

"Recall more archers to the ramparts along the gate and aim for those trolls," I pleaded. "Bring them down or at least slow them as much as we can. We've just got to hold out as long as we can."

The prince glanced over his shoulder at me, his aged face showing his regal and commanding presence. "You have a sound mind for defense strategy."

I shook my head. "I'm better on attack strategy; my people believed more in bringing the fight to our enemy than letting them come to us."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but then he turned to his aids and called out new orders. "Gather most of the archers from further down the ramparts. The lady is correct; we are in graver danger of the enemy breaching the gate than in them bringing down wall of solid stone. Tell them to focus their efforts at the gates and to aim for those trolls. Bring down as many as possible."

The aids turned in different directions to carry out his orders, and we both turned to survey the trolls' progress.

"I fear that even if we bring down every troll bearing that machine, there will be two more recalled to take their position," he muttered lowly.

"Maybe," I answered. "But if we can slow them down even a bit, it'll give us the time we need to hold out."

"Hold out for what, my lady?"

"Our allies."

He turned his head to regard me. "You believe Rohan yet comes?"

"They'll come. We just need to hold out as long as we can. The longer we can keep that gate from being breached the more lives we can save."

"What is your name, lady?" Imrahil suddenly asked.

"I'm called Lane."

"Lane," he repeated, tasting the name carefully with his lips. "You are the lady of rumor? The very one witnessed riding into the city with the wizard and whom many have said even joined my men in our charge across the Pelennor?"

I only nodded.

Instead of trying to order me away, or yet again—like every man it seemed—try to tell me battle was no place for a woman, he merely nodded in return and said simply, "It is a strange name."

A humorless chuckle left my lips at that. "I guess it is."

"You are said to be fair with your blade. Those of my men who witnessed the stranger joining our sortie claimed you were quite agile with the sword." I nodded again. "I hope you are as good with your bow," he continued as he returned to gazing out across the field.

Soldiers had begun to fill in around the gate and started letting loose their arrows at the trolls now coming into range.

I slipped my bow over my head and reached for an arrow from my quiver. "I would say I'm better with my sword, but I'm fair with a bow. I just hope it's enough." I turned to leave, jogging down the rampart closer to the gate, finding a hole to step into and aiming my bow.

"Pray that we are all enough this night," Imrahil answered, surprising me as he stepped up beside me and nocked an arrow in his own bow.

I fingered the shaft and fletching in my hand as I too nocked an arrow, holding my breath and aiming carefully. I briefly tried to recall where I'd last restocked my supply of arrows. From those slain Dunderlings at Helm's Deep? I knew I'd gathered more as well from the archery field I'd practiced in some days before.

Prayers that we would be enough for the night were a given, but I was also praying that the arrows I'd collected would fly straight and true.

My arrow released with a soft twang, and I tried to track its course, but it became lost in the sea of arrows striking the trolls.

"I'm praying that morning and our allies come swiftly," I threw back in answer to Imrahil.

He grunted in agreement as he continued firing his own bow.

The concentration of arrows at the trolls was helping. They began swatting angrily at the many shafts piercing their thick hides, slowing the progress of Grond towards the gate. And every so often, enough darts were well placed to bring down one of the giant beasts, causing them to fall away into the masses of Orcs around them.

But Imrahil was right; it didn't take long for a new troll to replace the felled one. Yet every moment that the progress of Grond was slowed for a new troll to assume the felled one's place was something. We just had to hold out.

Just hold out as long as we could.

I reached over my shoulder to grasp another arrow from my quiver, only— "Dammit!" I cursed. My quiver was empty.

At Helm's Deep, I had been able to use spent arrows from the enemy, but I saw no spent arrows lying here on the stone rampart. I turned and stepped away from the parapet, only to collide with a boy running past. I held my feet, but the boy dropped something with a clatter.

Loose arrows were spilled over the stone. "Perfect!" I exclaimed, and snatched a double-fistful before the boy could run off with them to distribute them down the line.

I didn't bother putting these arrows into my quiver, instead propping them against the parapet and resuming my rapid fire.

But despite all efforts, the trolls had pushed through to the gate, pulling the heavy trunk of Grond back on its thick chains and letting the massive weight swing forward.

"Hold on!" I shouted, lowering my bow and grabbing the wall to steady myself.

The sinister wolf-head of Grond seemed to snarl and growl as it slammed into the gate, the gleaming metal appearing as glowing eyes as its hit reverberating up and down the wall.

Shouts ran out as men all around me stumbled and fell to their knees. Imrahil beside me hadn't grabbed for the parapet when I did, yet he still managed to remain on his feet.

Once the quake passed, be began bellowing rapid orders. "Fire! Resume loosing your arrows men! Bring down those trolls!"

As one unit, we all obediently turned and resumed firing, our movements taking on a rapid and frantic pace.

Imrahil too began firing next to me, his pace as fevered as the rest of ours. "What perchance are our odds of stopping these beasts?" he questioned in a soft but serious tone.

"We can't," I replied, hating myself for answering with the truth and wanting to lie.

Our efforts again slowed the trolls, but not enough. As they began hoisting Grond's bulk back for another hit, we all lowered our bows this time and braced for the hit.

It came with an even greater crack, seeming to shake the very earth.

And even though my body still shook with the reverberations of the stone, my eyes were transfixed on the gate.

It wouldn't last. Another hit and the Enemy would be through.

Turing to Imrahil, I told him desperately, "We've got to pull back. They'll be through on the next one. We've got to get these men up to the next level."

His eyes too were transfixed on the gate as he angrily pounded a fist against the stone. "Never would my eyes thought to have seen the White City's gate fall. Curse their black hearts."

"We've got to pull back," I reminded him as the archers began to automatically resume their fire.

"To what end?" Imrahil asked, desperation sinking in. "You said yourself, the inner gates were not designed to withstand such force."

"Then we brace them with anything we can find. Wagons, lumber, furniture, rocks if we have to. We just need to buy time."

"Time for what?" he demanded.

"Time for help to arrive. Time to come up with a better plan. As long as we're still alive, we can still fight the Enemy, we can't if we fall here and now," I answered with a grim smile.

Imrahil's voice rang out loud and clear over the battle din. "Pull back! Pull back to the second level and brace the gates!" His orders were taken up in the call of his captains as they repeated them.

The archers seemed reluctant to abandon their efforts, but obeyed their Prince and began hurrying down the stairs and rushing up to the second level.

"Follow the others," Imrahil commanded with a pointed finger down the stairs.

I stayed beside him and watched the archers beyond our position stream past. "I'll go when you do." He turned to glare at me. "I'm just some woman, you're the one they'll listen to, so someone needs to watch your back."

Before he could rebut, Grond struck the gate with a thundering crash, the sound of wood splintering echoing through the night as pieces of the gate broke and fell away.

The last of the archers ran past us, their pace now terror-quickened.

"Go!" I yelled, shoving at Imrahil's shoulder and hurrying after him. We had just made the bottom of the stairs when the Black Rider rode imperiously through the gate. The Lord of the Nazgûl.

With the Lord of the Nazgûl came a dark weighty feeling of evil and oppression. My shields were generally well bolstered by the adrenaline that coursed through me during a battle, but not even my normal barriers kept the heavy despair from engulfing me. I stumbled as it wrapped around me, feeling as though the blood in my veins had frozen solid, the breath stolen from my lungs.

Imrahil had turned towards me and grabbed my arm at my stumble, steadying my body as I desperately shuffled my feet forward, trying to outdistance the shadow of that evil. As my feet began moving more quickly beneath me, my body somewhat recovering, we rushed past Gandalf on an imposing Shadowfax.

The pair was still, unmoving to the threat of the Nazgûl lord.

"You cannot enter here," Gandalf called in a clear and commanding voice. Imrahil and I had reached the gate to the second level and paused to watch the unfolding scene as the wizard continued. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!"

With a grand gesture, the Black Rider tossed back his hood to reveal a once kingly crown; although to my mortal eyes I could not see what it sat upon. Only a red fire seemed to shine above his dark cloak.

"Old fool!" the nebulous figure laughed. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" A sword lifted aloft from a cloaked arm, fire running down the blade more terrifying than any Hollywood stunt.

But Gandalf gave no ground.

Waiting.

Waiting.

The silence broke as somewhere behind us a rooster crowed. I glanced up at the Enemy's dark clouds and realized dawn had indeed arrived, heralded simply and modestly by an old rooster that understood naught of battle and war.

"It's dawn," I whispered, a small grin tugging at previously downturned lips.

"Dawn?" Imrahil questioned beside me, looking up at the sky as I had done.

Before he could speak more, another sound rang loud and clear.

The loud clear call of horns sounded, echoing off the mountains behind us.

The Rohirrim had come.

As though the sheer force and pitch of the horns had been the cause, the dark clouds retreated, shadow failing while light broke through in such brilliance of white, blue, and silver rays.

Before our very eyes, the once imperious Dark Rider turned from the gate and disappeared, seeming to fade into the fleeing darkness.

"Rohan is come," Imrahil gasped in an astonished tone. "And none too soon it would seem."

Grinning wider, I told the Dol Amroth prince, "I told you we just had to hold out long enough!"

"Indeed you did," he laughed, his eyes showing his surprise that he was even capable of such a sound.

He turned back towards the second level gate where many astonished soldiers now gathered and called out, "Rohan is come! Come to honor age-old alliances! Shall we thank them by cowering here in the city, or shall we meet them upon the field of battle, our swords stained as red as their spears?"

Again, I witnessed how quickly the men could rally their strength. The appearance of the Rohirrim reinvigorated us all, and the soldiers of Gondor gladly took up the call, "Rohan! Rohan!"

Fatigue and weariness faded away, if once there had been terror chilling the blood, it too fled as blood warmed with the battle call.

"To the field!" Imrahil demanded, his aides and standard-bearer surrounding him and bringing with them many horses for the Dol Amroth contingent as a mass of soldiers moved as one for the ruined gate and the Field of Pelennor beyond. Archers that had been on the ramparts with us again readied their bows as they ran, and foot soldiers who had labored through the night to slake the fires and fortify the gates drew their swords as they eagerly joined the fray beyond the gate.

I had a few arrows still in one palm, but those quickly were spent, so bow was exchanged for blade as I ran forward on foot, no horse being brought forward for me as I turned and twisted in the macabre ball of human and Orc dancers.

Though the night had been long, I knew the battle was only just beginning.

* * *

**A/N: **I had this chapter going at well over 10,000 words, so I decided I'd better try to cut it somewhere in half and make it two chapters instead. But the good news is the other chapter is basically done!

I had a pretty boring birthday yesterday (Wednesday kinda sucks for a birthday) so I decided to work on these chapters and finish the battle scenes (which I hate writing) and get them out to you as my birthday present to all of you. And I can hardly believe I'm 27 years old now, where did time go?

Anyway, as always, let me know what you thought!

And thanks so much for the reviews! They're like crack for writers!


	6. Battle Highs and Lows

**Chapter 6: Battle Highs and Lows**

Companies of Rohirric cavalry rode through the frenzy on the field, their spears swift and steady in their dance, darting in and out at the Orcs, creatures, and human enemy.

This macabre dance was no formal dance, no structured or choreographed waltz, and no impassioned tango. It reminded me more of old jazz. No rhyme, rhythm, or reason.

It was chaos.

Nothing in my world could have prepared me for this battle. No battle my people's military had seen in ages could have equaled it. And no Hollywood imagining could have done it justice.

There was no overriding command and leadership that moved companies of men about the fields like chess pieces on the board. There was no inspiring music score to tug at the heart and swell emotions of a moviegoer.

There was only blood, death, and dying. And the prayer that you were only on the delivering end of those things.

It was like nothing I could have imagined on that field. Men and creatures fought and died all around me, blood soaking the ground until the dried grass had wilted with the slickness of that viscous fluid.

There were no formations to fight in, at least not for those of us on foot. The Rohirrim on horseback rode back together several times at the sounding of horns from their captains, but those of us on foot continued as we were, pushing forward through the mass of Orcs as we could. Sometimes two soldiers on foot would come together to fight side-by-side, but invariably, one would fall leaving the other to continue fighting alone.

The ground suddenly shuddered behind me as I heard something strike the ground. I tuned to see a snowy white horse splayed out on the ground, his feet kicking impotently against his death pangs.

A great winged creature suddenly descended near the fallen horse, reaching down to clamp wicked teeth around it. The great winged beast of the Nazgûl. I thought darkly to myself that the creature seemed more like a throwback to some ancient line of Stone Age creatures, a missing link surely. And atop the creature was the previously vanished Lord of the Nazgûl, once more returned to the battle.

I fumbled back and away from the creature and his rider, finally realizing that it was Théoden beneath the white horse. In a daze, I watched as Éowyn stepped forward to fight the Black Rider, and Merry so valiantly fighting with her.

My body again quaked as I fought the dark menace that surrounded and shadowed the Lord of the Nazgûl, darker and more terrifying than nearly anything I'd ever before felt my mind immersed in, second only to the terror I'd felt when my mind had been awash with Sauron's evil will.

My muscles continued to shake as I struggled with the task of pushing that menace away, watching Éowyn's battle almost absently. When her shield rose to fend the Black Rider's mace, it shattered, the pain in her now broken shield-arm driving Éowyn to her knees.

She was turned partially towards me as she gazed about in shock, her eyes landing almost unerringly on my face. I saw the pleading in her eyes as she recognized me, but there was nothing I could do to help her. The dark menace of the Ringwraith prevented me from taking even a step towards her to offer assistance. A woman and a hobbit would slay the Witch-king, but I knew this woman would be of no aid.

I closed my eyes, feeling a lone tear of regret roll down and slip from my eyelashes, falling heavily upon my chest. But I did not turn back towards Éowyn. Instead, I turned and walked away, throwing myself once more into the fray, desperate to drown my regret in blood, and amazed that even the Orcs had not strayed into such close quarters with the Witch-king and his winged creature.

My heart pounded heavily at leaving Éowyn behind to face the Nazgûl, but I reminded myself that she would defeat the Witch-king, and she would survive his dark breath. In the end, she would even find a worthy man to give her heart to. Yet in those moments as I walked away with heavy feet, it was no consolation in my heart to leave her behind. My mind recalled again and again the look of pleading and desperation in her young eyes.

I fought through the mass of Orcs, no conscious thought to any particular direction, simply pushing ever forward and slaying any Orc or Southron in my path.

The mûmakil I did avoid, those creatures greater and more terrifying than any elephant of their likeness. I was spent of arrows that would have done only little good against them anyway, so I continually veered from their path and kept my quarry smaller and more manageable to my blade.

I realized I had pushed far across the Pelennor when I heard the disheartened cries of men calling for retreat to the city at the sight of the black sails easing closer on the waters of the Anduin. And though a little ways off, I heard Éomer's reckless and determined call for the Rohirrim to form a wall to face the Corsairs on those ships.

But I ignored Éomer's call and turned away from those black sails, grinning almost as gleefully as the soldiers of Mordor as I turned away from the Anduin to face them. I knew no enemy would stand at my back.

Éomer's joyous laughter suddenly rang out over the battle sounds, reaching my ears even as I crossed blades with the wicked steel of a Haradrim blade and saw the arrogant glee flee the faces of every soldier of Mordor.

No Corsairs were aboard those ships, but a banner of White Tree and Seven Stars now fluttered at the fore of the lead ship. And though it was now mid-morning, and through the night and on I had fought, I was once more invigorated, my tired limbs regaining their snappy movements as I blocked, parried, thrust, and danced about the field.

It wasn't long before several riders overtook me on the ground. I saw new battle-fresh horses on one side, and the battle-strained horses of the Rohirrim coming together from the other side, until both forces rode as one. Once joined together, the two forces stopped, Aragorn and Éomer gladly shaking hands as they happily greeted on the battlefield.

I jogged up behind them as Éomer gripped Aragorn's hand, just catching the tail end of the new, young king's words, "Nor indeed more timely. You come none too soon, my friend. Much loss and sorrow has befallen us."

"Your coming was just as timely, Éomer," I laughed as I stopped slightly behind them. As I paused to catch my breath, I lowered my head briefly to rest my hands on my knees before wiping the sweat from my brow and looking up again. When I met the lords' eyes, it was to many shocked stares, and I nearly stumbled backwards with the laughter that surprised even me bubbling up from my throat.

"You'd think after all the surprising forces showing up this morning—first the Rohirrim and then Dúnedain manning Corsair boats—that you guys wouldn't be surprised by one lone woman showing up," I laughed.

Aragorn recovered swiftest and started to swing down to greet me, but I stepped forward with a pat on his leg, stopping his movement and reaching up to offer him my hand instead. "It is somehow surprising to find you here afield, Lane. Yet why it is surprising to me, I cannot say," he chuckled as he grasped my forearm.

He quickly introduced me to his foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir, as well as several of his Dúnedain brethren from the North. And even Éomer recovered enough to offer a shell-shocked greeting.

I glanced around curiously as Aragorn introduced a few more of his Rangers, but stopped when I heard Aragorn's laughter.

"The one you seek is here somewhere," he laughed. "No doubt seeking you even as your eyes scan for him. They rode from the ships with us and hastened into the melee."

I turned to face his grin, my own face deliberately blank. "Oh? I'm glad to hear Gimli's all right then. I'd have been upset if something happened to that dwarf. I've become rather fond of him."

Everyone else turned to one another in confusion, but Aragorn laughed with deep happy sounds rolling from his belly. "I fear a certain elf shall be quite disheartened to hear of your change in heart," he got out between laughs.

With a theatrical sigh, I planted the tip of my sword into the earth as I leaned on the hilt before I wearily replied, "Well, can't have a moping elf, no sight sadder than that. Have to keep those elves merry, and it'll be a hardship, but I'll tell Gimli that he'll have to keep looking for that special dwarven lass." I stroked my chin contemplatively with one hand. "Probably for the best, never was too excited about the prospect of trying to grow a beard." Then I winked devilishly at Aragorn who was finding far too much enjoyment in the bewilderment of his men. "Besides, I like my men clean-shaven themselves, less irritation on all that sensitive skin."

Many of Aragorn's men, and even Éomer himself, looked perplexed by the innuendo, but I could tell by the deep blushes from Aragorn and some of his older men, and oddly enough, even the two elves, that they more than caught my veiled drift.

I let my head fall back in laughter as I enjoyed their discomfort and confusion. My humor was most likely considered completely improper in this world, but in my own, battlefield humor was known to be well beyond raunchy to far worse.

Wiping the back of my arm over my forehead again, I explained to them through my chuckles, "No need to get uncomfortable. In my land, soldiers often use lewd and improper humor to levitate the grave emotions from battle. And it's been a long night and a long morning that's far from done."

Aragorn had finally regained his composure, and laughed a bit though his cheeks still showed his blush. "It is much the same among men at least, though I fear we are all as yet unaccustomed to such from a woman." He grinned as he said it, telling me with the twinkle in his eyes how well he remembered that I didn't like being referred to as a lady.

"It is to our friend's boon," Aragorn continued, "that he was so able to capture the heart of such a spirited woman. And to the detriment of many men I could name who would welcome the heart and spirit of a woman like you. If only you had not made your choice so swiftly, alas, I could have found several of my kinsmen for you to choose amongst. Many men with fire in their spirits to match yours." He gestured with a wicked smile to his standard-bearer. "Halbarad himself is of an age to be wed now, yet I know he has not yet found a woman with enough adventure in her heart to match his restless spirit."

I laughed although I blushed a bit with his words, looking over Halbarad and several of Aragorn's Rangers, a handful of who actually did seem a bit interested. What they possibly saw in me I wasn't sure of. How a sweat and blood covered woman could be the slightest bit attractive was beyond me.

But I bit back a naughty grin as I rejoined, "Naw, your men keep beards too, and you know how I feel about them."

The Rangers seemed a bit more at ease this time and did chuckle at the joke, though a few stroked their beards in a reflective manner. I hoped I hadn't started a craze of clean-shaven Rangers trying to impress their ladies. Or perhaps their ladies would thank me?

"How come you to be afoot, Lane?" Aragorn asked next. "Were you unhorsed?"

"Naw," I shook my head. "He's safe up in the Citadel. Didn't have time to go get him after the gate was broken down. So I've been on foot."

Aragorn seemed surprised by that news, so I briefly explained what had happened through the night.

"Your night has indeed been long," Aragorn answered sadly as he looked back across the field of Mordor's forces. They had scattered and fled when it was not Corsairs debarking from the ships, giving us all this time to rest for a moment, but they would soon be marshaled by their captains and again hurled at us. "This day I fear is far from over."

"But it too will end. And another will begin," I steadfastly replied.

"We shall meet the Enemy and deal them such blows as to avenge what they have dealt here, my lord," Aragorn's standard-bearer, Halbarad, added with firm resolution shinning in his eyes.

Aragorn gave the man a fond smile. "Then let us avenge it, ere we speak of it!" Aragorn replied, spurring his horse forward once more into battle.

I sighed at leaving our break from battle behind, but strode forward determinedly, once more meeting the Enemy with the swinging might of my blade.

Only a few minutes had passed before I'd caught up with the van of Aragorn's Rangers and Éomer's Rohirrim. Their charge had been stopped by a rallying group of Southrons led afoot by a determined captain. Yet Aragorn and his men as well as the Rohirrim were well handling the Southrons.

Still, for some unknown reason even to myself, I worked my way closer, feeling the need to stay at their backs and watch their flanks. I couldn't pinpoint a reason for the feeling, after all, they were mounted men, and I was on foot.

But just as I reached the throng of men, I saw a horse go down amidst a shrill scream and striking hooves. In the rider's hand was the standard that Arwen had herself fashioned for Aragorn. Sprinting forward, I reached Halbarad just as he was stooped and struggling to pull the standard from beneath his felled horse.

How the moment would happen turned torturously in my mind. I knew Aragorn's standard-bearer and closest kinsmen was to die in this battle. He would carry the banner onto the field where he would perish. Yet Aragorn's fondness as he had spoken to the man, as well as his gentle teasing told me that Aragorn was close to this man in more than just blood. There had been a fondness in his voice I'd only rarely before heard in his tone. Halbarad too seemed an honorable man. His care and devotion had been evident as he spoke to Aragorn, and his smile at his kinsman's teasing honest and carefree.

_I couldn't save Boromir and risk changing so many things, but what would Halbarad's death further? What would saving him hurt? Couldn't help Éowyn, either. Boromir's gone, but maybe I can make it up by saving this man. _

The thoughts raced through my mind in only a matter of split seconds, and in another instant, I made my decision.

I covered the distance between us while scanning the area for threats. A Southron closed in behind Halbarad who was still struggling to pull the wooden pole of the standard free, his eyes not seeing the dark blade arching overhead to hew him from behind.

If the Southron had merely thrust his blade forward into Halbarad's back, I wouldn't have made it, but as it was, I barely managed to slip between the Ranger and the swarthy man to block the blow with my own turned blade. The force still pushed me back into Halbarad, but I stepped back with the force, and slid my blade down to the earth, bringing the Southron's curved blade with it before I pulled the large knife from my belt and slid it upwards under the other man's ribcage. His breath left him in a soft gasp as he mumbled something unintelligible to my ears, and then slumped backwards to the ground.

Spinning, I found Halbarad just yanking the standard from beneath his horse, but from the corner of my eye, caught the sight of a bow raised in our direction. The standard of any of the kings or the prince were of course prime targets for the Enemy to take down, and one standard-bearer afoot seemed too tempting.

Without thought, I took a step over to stand in front of Halbarad, catching the dark arrow high in my chest, and slightly to the left of my midline.

The impact forced me to stumble backwards into Halbarad before my legs lost their strength. He caught me with one hand as I heard him shouting for another rider to take the standard and ride to the Aragorn's side, and then he lowered me until I was lying on the ground, leaning back against his chest.

His words came and went to my ears, sounding like a radio station going in and out of reception.

But then, I leaned forward and took a gasping breath. My oxygen-starved lungs burning as I finally began breathing in deep, chest-racking breaths. Halbarad sat astonished behind me as I leaned forward and gave a hard yank to pull the sinister arrow away.

He scrambled around to in squat in front of me, his hands knocking mine away as he pressed his palms to my chest.

And then he realized there was no blood.

"What—how—how are you not bleeding?" he stuttered as he slowly pulled his hands away.

My trembling fingers pulled the hole in my leather jerkin and my shirt away to reveal a similar hole in my chainmail. But as I pulled the layers away at my neck and looked down, I could see the bulletproof vest I'd donned underneath. The dent in the armor from when I'd been shot in that brothel directly beneath the hole in my chainmail.

My head fell backwards against my neck as I closed my eyes, saying a grateful prayer to whatever gods—and the makers of bulletproof vests—that I hadn't just died over my antics. And another fervent prayer of thanks to Legolas for having saved this vest for so long.

"I can't believe this thing held up to a bullet and now an arrow," I whispered to the sky.

"Bull-it?" Halbarad repeated.

My head fell forward as I grinned at Halbarad. "Never mind," I told him, clapping my hands on his shoulders. "You're alive and so am I."

Yet as I spoke, a resounding feeling reverberated within me, until a voice seemed to echo in my heart, _This, too, you shall be called to one day account for. _But I brushed the voice away.

"I do not understand it," Halbarad was saying in a bewildered voice. "You pulled that arrow from your chest, yet not a drop of blood has fallen. Even your chainmail was pierced." As he spoke, his fingers trailed over the hole in my clothes and fingered the pierced chainmail. But he glanced up at my eyes and seemed to realize what he was doing, snatching his hands back from my chest with a guilty expression.

I touched my chest briefly, feeling the familiar ache there that I knew would soon bruise, and thanking my lucky stars that it _hadn't _been a bullet from point-blank range this time. I remembered too well how much _that _had hurt and ached.

I looked back at the man as I spoke, really marking his features for the first time. His hair was dark, almost black, though his well-trimmed beard was a few shades lighter. His nose might have seemed long for his square face, but the beard helped to hide it. And the tight lips surrounded by beard were thin, but I'd seen them curled up into an easy smile. Those large gray eyes stared at me with concern, yet I'd seen them twinkling with mirth at Aragorn's teasing.

Yes, he was a handsome man, his look said late-twenties, but I knew his bloodline would put him even older. A handsome man with a quick smile and easy laughter, yes, I would have once found him attractive. At least for a night. But I doubted he would have held my interest beyond that. Men never understood me, and the frustration of it always drove me away quite quickly. But in a previous life, I'd have found one night's enjoyment with a man like this.

"Come on," I told Halbarad, struggling to my feet and chasing those thoughts away. "The riders have pushed the Southrons back for now, but we'll be sitting ducks if we keep sitting around here like—well, sitting ducks."

He looked unconvinced at first, but when I'd gotten to my feet well enough and picked up my dropped sword, he stood as well and retrieved his own blade.

"It seems we are now both afoot," he commented with a dejected look in the direction of Aragorn and the Ranger now carrying the banner.

"You did your job while you could," I told him as I forced my tired legs forward one step at a time. "Now it's time to concentrate on using your blade for a while."

We strode forward together, staying close by each other to form a more formidable force.

* * *

It was many more hours before I stopped my weary legs again. The sun was dipping behind the mountains and night was falling by the time the battle was finally over. I was a ways afield with Halbarad when I looked around to find no more standing Orcs or Southrons to fight. Only the dead and dying littered the field now. And those soldiers left who wandered about looking through the slain for men they had known and rode with.

There would be very few faces I might now to look for, but I walked slowly alongside Halbarad through the battlefield as he silently looked for those familiar to his eyes. As we walked, I could hear the calls of the dying, those whom had fought on both sides. I did not understand the calls and pleas of the Southrons, but at the pleas of those dying and in obvious pain, I stopped and quickly drove a merciful blade through them.

I had driven my blade through several dying Southrons before I had finally stopped to stare down at the last one. Halbarad had been using his own blade likewise and stepped beside me to see what held my attention.

"I can't help but think that if we were still in my own land, something could be done for many of these men. Not all of them would have to die. Many of them yes, but not all of them," I said in answer to his unasked question.

He shrugged. "They serve the Dark Lord. Quick death is mercy enough," he answered unemotionally.

And perhaps in the heat of battle, I would have said and thought the same. But not here and now that my battle-lust had cooled.

I turned and pointed to where a leech was attending a dying man of Gondor. "And what makes that man different from this one? During the battle, they might have even exchanged the blows that left them both dying. But now the battle is over, and what's the difference? They're both men who were fighting with their countrymen for their own cause. And now they're dying or dead. Death doesn't know which side you fight on. It comes for you regardless. And when a man's lying there dying, he isn't thinking about what side he fought on or if his side won or lost, he's thinking about the friends and family he's leaving behind. There's really no difference between them now."

Halbarad looked back down at the dead Southron at our feet. His skin and hair were dark; his eyes too had stared pleadingly up at me with dark orbs. Slack in death, his features were softened, the angles sharper and more accentuated than the men of the West, but still touched with a bit of the softness of youth.

"He could barely have been a man," Halbarad whispered, his own gaze softening as he stared down, looking at the Southron with new eyes.

"And no different than any of the others barely made into men before they lost their lives on this field," I whispered back.

"You saved my life," Halbarad whispered, his eyes still transfixed.

I didn't turn to look at him as I answered either, but I turned my face to look up at the shadow of the White City. It was too hard to stare at the dead as I remembered how easily either one of us could have been lying there on the blood stained ground. "And you saved my life several times, too. My body had run out of even reserves of energy by the end. You killed many men and Orcs when my blade began to waver."

"Still, I would not be here if not for your presence," he maintained, finally looking up at my face.

I glanced back over at him beside me. "Then consider the debt more than repaid. You probably saved me several times over."

"You fought well; this is a battle to be celebrated in song through the ages. Perhaps when we both have found rest, we can find some ale and recall our deeds on the field," Halbarad hopefully offered.

But I shook my head in response. "Right now I want nothing more than to sleep and forget any and all parts of this battle."

I turned before he could speak or answer again and began walking through the field back towards the city. I couldn't explain or articulate to him the emotional letdown I felt after something like this. The emotional discharge that coursed through me after the adrenaline was gone and my strength had nearly all but fled.

When I had slept and returned to myself, I would probably be as willing as any other to sit and have a drink to old battle tales, but for now, all I could see were the faces of the dead and dying.

"No one ever thinks about the death and devastation left behind after a battle. The sheer carnage of it," I whispered to myself. "They all want to crow about the glory of battle. And movies always show the heroes valiantly triumphing over evil to stirring and moving music scores. But where's the music now? Where's the triumphant score to herald all the dead left on the field. Their bodies bloating and decaying in the aftermath." I angrily shook my head at the absurdity of it all. I was a soldier, I knew the necessity of battle, but in this moment, it was hard to see past the death.

The ruin of the main gate was nearing when I heard someone calling my name. I briefly considered ignoring whoever it was in favor of continuing on my long path for the citadel and the promise of a bed.

But strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me into an embrace before my tardy mind realized the voice had been calling my full name instead of my nickname. And only one being ever called me "Elaina."

"Legolas," I whispered as I leaned into his chest, letting his warmth engulf me. He smelled of old Orc blood and the copperish tang of other blood. But underneath those scents were the smells of his sweat and sweet musk, now familiar scents to me.

I clung to him even as he silently held so firmly onto me. Both content at least in this moment to stand in silence and savor the simple happiness of our reunion.

"Are you unhurt?" Legolas eventually whispered against my hair as he rubbed his cheek ever so gently across the top of my head.

My eyes remained closed as I burrowed my cheek a bit closer to him and whispered back, "Some bruises. Mostly just exhausted."

I finally pulled back to look up into Legolas's face in the dim light. I couldn't see much in the darkness, but I wiped at a dark splotch on one cheek, no doubt a bit of old blood. "And you? Are you okay?" I returned.

He smiled faintly. "I am well. More than that now that I hold you again and can ease the worried fears of my heart."

"Good," I answered with simple satisfaction.

His hands reached up behind his neck. "I have the token you bid me keep for you."

I reached up and stilled his hands. "No. Keep it. At least for now. You can give it back to me when this war is really over. Just keep it safe for me a little longer." At his narrowed look, I laughed and promised. "I _will _get it back from you. You'll see."

"But how are _you, _Elaina love_?_" he asked as he dropped his hands, his inflection telling me he meant more than just how I was physically.

I turned to stand beside him, looking across the field as his arm almost habitually slid to wrap around my lower back, his hand resting comfortably on my opposite hip. "I don't know," I answered honestly. _How do I put any of this into coherent words?_

He looked out across the littered field. "Yes," he said, as though answering a question I hadn't heard or agreeing to something I hadn't voiced. "So many lives were lost this night. Valiant men of Gondor and Rohan, and beguiled men of the East and South. It is hard to know how one should feel after such bloodshed, even harder still to voice those thoughts." He turned and looked down into my face. "I regret that you were afield in this battle. That you witnessed such death and destruction on so abhorrent a scale. I regret even more that you had to participate in dealing such death. Yet I know it is not in your nature to sit idly by while others do the hard fighting. I wish I could lift this burden from your heart and fëa, but it shall ease in time, and I shall help you bear the burden, for my heart too weeps for the blood shed here this day."

I felt my resolve and emotions crumble in one as tears of relief sprang to my eyes. Legolas understood. He understood me and he understood what I was feeling. That I was burdened and weighed down by all those who had had to die this day.

Leaning heavily into Legolas's side, I wrapped my arms tightly around him again. Tipping my face back to show him the absolute sincerity and honesty in my words, I told him, "You've become a better friend to me than I've ever known. You know me in way no one else ever has, Legolas. And I love you more than I ever believed it was possible to love."

I looked out across the field, the night mostly hid the carnage now—at least to sight—but my heart conjured the image of the slain still there. My body could easily have been one of those, and Legolas's could have been lost in that swift water in Rohan—or any number of times and places since. We both could have so easily died too many times. _We only have here and now_, I reminded myself. _Only here and now. _

My eyes locked hard with Legolas's beaming expression as I spoke with all my heart and resolve. "Marry me."

* * *

**A/N: **Well, Legolas is back!

Thanks so much for all the kind birthday wishes! You've all been great.

And I'm glad you've all been liking the action scenes, for me, the battle scenes are the most intimidating to write. And the next chapter's already written, just need to edit it. And as they say, it's gonna be good! ;)

As always, let me know what you thought!


	7. No Regrets Censored Version

**Okay, listen up folks! **

**As I am trying to remain compliant to the fiction rating rules of FF dot net, (and would rather not have my stories pulled from the site) I have posted here on this site, the **_**clean**_**, edited version of this chapter. FF does not allow adult material on their site, so I have posted the extended, unadulterated version elsewhere. **

**There is nothing 100% vital lost in this edited version, but the other version is longer and shows more of the relationship building of Legolas/Lane as well as more of Lane's past and character. **

**If you are of age (per your state/country's age restrictions) and would like to read the extended version, you can find links on my bio page. **

**Thank you, and carry on!**

**Chapter 7: No Regrets (Censored Version)**

"Marry me."

"Are you certain, Elaina?" Legolas whispered with an intensity in his voice, his hand sliding up to touch my jaw delicately with his fingertips.

I smiled when he didn't need any clarification on what I'd meant. "Yeah, I'm sure."

The yearning shone in his eyes; hell, I could feel the very emotion coursing through him. Yet he still seemed reticent and indecisive. He turned his head to stare out at the battlefield I'd just walked across, his eyes fixed on some distant point as he spoke, still not looking at me. "I would not have this be a thing you regret. I would have it be done with only love and joy in your heart, not a fear induced by those here slain."

With one palm on his cheek, I gently turned his eyes back down to mine, and with the other hand, I grasped one of his and pressed his palm over my heart, holding it there. "When I'm with you, there is only joy in my heart. Can't you feel it, Legolas?"

He smiled lightly but didn't respond, though neither did he move away. My left hand held his palm to my heart, and his hand twisted under mine, twining with my fingers to stroke the ring he'd placed on my hand. The promise he'd made.

"I _do _have a lot of regrets in my life," I told him. "But I never regretted acting on the desires of my _heart_. And too often, I've regretted _not _acting; regretted the things I _hadn't _done. I regret that we've already waited so long. And for what? I don't want to wait for this war to be over; we can't know what might happen here—not even me, because things have already changed from what I once knew—and I don't want to regret not seizing this moment when we found it."

I could see the emotions and desires battling across his face. "My heart knows what it so greatly desires, but are you certain you are not rushing your own?"

My smile turned wistful, "You said yourself that many elven couples unite almost upon meeting and first giving their hearts. I wonder now why I've waited so long. I don't want this thing to be something I regret, and I'll never regret finding and loving you. I never thought it was possible to find someone who understands me the way you do. And maybe I've been in shock at actually realizing that you _do _not only understand me, but _love _me as well. In spite of what you know about me. It might even be selfish of me, but I'm not foolish enough to let you slip away from me. I don't want to waste this chance for us to be happy. Even if for only this moment in time."

The hand that had been pressed to my heart and twined with my fingers, slid up to curl around the side of my neck as Legolas lowered his forehead to mine, staring intently into my eyes. "Nay, we shall have many moments of bliss and happiness. Just this one moment shall never satisfy the longing in my heart for you. It demands years of bliss in your arms."

A grin stole onto my expression. "Greedy, huh? I think I can live with that."

He closed his eyes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my waiting lips, and then slid his mouth to my cheek, pressing soft kisses there until he'd moved to whisper in my ear, "But say not that joining your heart to mine is selfish, for if such a desire is selfish, than my own heart is mercenary in its long desire to have you for my own."

My eyes had closed at his kiss, but I smiled wider at his words. "And I want nothing more than those years of happiness you speak of, but I want even more than just years, I don't think even eternity would satisfy me." I opened my eyes and pulled back to let him see my grin. "What an insatiable and possessive pair we'll make."

Instead of laughing or smiling at my joke, a look of sadness flashed across his eyes, and lingered in his emotions. "Would that we had an eternity together. Much I would give for it."

My expression turned serious as well with his words, a piece of my heart feeling haunted by them. "Promise me something. Promise me one thing here and now before we go any further."

His head tilted in silent question.

"Promise me that when and if I die, you won't fade. I can't go any further until I know you'll continue on and do the things you were meant to do in the end."

He sighed deeply and looked away. "You ask much of me. To promise that I will cling to my fëa even as my heart will surely break." He turned back to look down at me. "Why do you ask this of me? What things are meant to be more important in my heart than you are?"

I bit my lip, wondering what I could tell him, and finally deciding I wouldn't lie to him. "The story has to end with you building the last ship to Valinor. There's so many other wonderful things you have to do in the interim, but in the end, when Aragorn willingly gives up his long days just as the kings of old did, you have to build the ship that will carry you and Gimli to the shores of Valinor."

A feeling of hurt and despair seemed to flash through Legolas as he pulled away from me and stepped out of my arms. He stood facing the field once more, his hands clenched tightly into fists. "You do not say that you shall come with us. Only that Gimli and I shall make this voyage."

"Yes."

He turned to look over his shoulder at me, faint starlight sparkling against the moisture in his eyes. "How can you ask such a thing of me? How can you ask me to sail to Valinor without you? It shall never be the promised paradise if you are not at my side."

I stepped closer and took one of his tightly clenched fists into my hands, dropping a kiss to the hard white knuckles. "I told you, I have to have Faith. I might not be able to sail with you to Valinor, but maybe I'll be waiting there for you after I'm gone. Even mortal souls are supposed to find paradise when they die, and the only paradise for me will be with you." I forced a light grin. "I'd just like to see those Vala keep me out of Valinor to be standing on the shore waiting for you and Gimli when you arrive." My expression turned serious again as I told him, "Besides, you have to go so that Gimli can come with you. He won't be able to get there on his own, he'll need you."

His fist relaxed slightly. "Gimli shall be granted access to Valinor?"

"Yeah, so who's to say I won't? Besides, if something does happen to me, you'll have Gimli to keep you company. Please, just promise me that no matter what, you won't fade. Promise me you'll build the world you're meant to build and that you and Gimli will have your grand adventures. I need to know that I'm not going to interfere with how the story is meant to end. Please," I pleaded.

He pulled me into his arms and pressed my face to his chest until I couldn't see his own any more. For several moments, he simply held me, until I didn't think he was going to answer me.

"Very well," he whispered. "You have my solemn word that I shall not fade upon your death. But I cannot promise not to mourn your passing for the rest of my days."

I pulled away from him and tugged his hand lightly towards the White City. "Hey, enough of this gloom and doom talk. If I've learned one thing, it's that for all I supposedly know about what's going to happen, nothing is set in stone or absolute. We've only got here and now. So let's enjoy it."

He smiled slightly as our fingers entwined and he followed me towards the gate, but I was determined to see that smile grow.

* * *

When we reached the gates, Legolas gave several low whistles and Arod appeared before us. He lightly stroked the gelding's neck, speaking soft elvish words to him before he turned and offered me a hand to help me up.

I almost refused the offer, but then realized as tired as I was, I was liable to end up on my ass in the dirt if I tried to swing myself into the saddle. Moving closer, Legolas shifted his hands and lightly grasped my waist, easily lifting me into the saddle before he sprang up behind me.

Legolas then surprised me by not reaching around me for the reins, instead settling his hands on my hips and patiently waiting for me.

I shook my head as I took the reins. "Only male I know who doesn't insist on doing all the driving."

With a squeeze of my heels, Arod started forward on the winding path up the levels of the city.

"What do you mean by driving? By your wording I take your meaning to be something other than driving a carriage or wagon pulled by horses," Legolas wondered behind me.

"Yeah, it's something from my world. Cars are the means of transportation there—think metal carriage that isn't powered by horses. And though my world, my country in particular, likes to think that we're all about women's equality, men still have hang-ups about some things, and letting women drive is one of them. I guess they feel they've given enough ground to women's liberation and feel like they have to hang on to being the masters of a few things."

I could feel Legolas shrug behind me. "It matters not who 'drives,' as you say; you are the one who knows this city." He waited a beat and then asked, "Least I assume you have a destination in mind? We could find a tent to shelter us on the field, as many others shall this night. I had merely assumed you had been given your own quarters within the city."

"Yeah, I've got rooms in the citadel," I replied with a dark laugh, remembering when I'd last been in them. "And while I can sleep on the ground as well as any man, I'm not going to turn down a warm bed. And a bath." _Although I will make sure that damned door can't be locked again from the outside!_

"Where is your mount, Elaina?" Legolas eventually asked as we neared the third level.

"He's still up in the stables near the citadel. I didn't have time to get him after the battle through last night and before the Rohirrim showed up this morning and we all were called onto the field."

"Tell me what has occurred since you departed," Legolas pressed, his hand sliding around to my stomach.

I dropped one hand to fold over his, glad for the cover of darkness and for the fact that the upper levels of the city seemed nearly abandoned. Most of the soldiers were still on the field helping to settle the Rangers and Rohirrim, helping to clear the debris in the first level, or caring for the wounded. At daylight, I knew the momentous task of clearing the dead from the field would begin.

My fingers trailed across the hand spanning my stomach as I briefly explained the highlights of the days since I'd had to leave with Gandalf.

"What about you?" I asked when I'd finished my tale. "I know most of what happened, I guess, but where's Gimli? I saw Aragorn and his men on the field, but I haven't seen Gimli yet."

Legolas chuckled, "Aragorn had explained to us that you met them upon the field shortly after we had debarked the ships, but Gimli was very anxious to face battle. He was most unhappy and unsettled upon the ship, and quite eager to ply his axe against the Enemy upon solid ground. After we found Aragorn some time ago, and he explained having seen you earlier in the day, I left to seek you on the field, but Gimli pleaded a greater need to sate his thirst and left in search of a tavern that might still have a supply of ale. He did ask that I send his regards and well wishes for a restful night."

I grinned and chuckled ruefully at Legolas's wording. "Not quite how Gimli put things, was it?"

"Nay," Legolas laughed merrily. "T'was not how he worded it, no. I think our helpful dwarf was ensuring we would have time alone together once I had found you."

He pulled against my stomach as he spoke, tugging me backwards until my back was flush against his chest. And I sighed contentedly at the mixture of tension and comfort the closeness created.

"I think I owe that dwarf a drink," I murmured, surprised by the huskiness of my voice.

We rode in comfortable silence the rest of the way to the citadel stables.

Legolas slipped down first, holding out his hand to help me down. Instead of swinging my leg over Arod's rump, I swung it over his neck and slid down towards Legolas facing him. But the instant my feet touched the ground, I kept sliding. Only Legolas's quick grip on my waist held me upright as my legs tried to buckle beneath me.

"Elaina?" Legolas gasped, concern and fear immediately flooding his face.

I braced my hands on his arms and willed my legs awake again. Once they accepted my weight, I smiled and assured my worried elf. "I'm fine, really. It's just been twenty-four hours straight of battle, and I don't know how long since I actually slept. My muscles are just weary."

He looked unconvinced and wrapped an arm around my waist once more to help me into the stables, plunking me down forcibly on an overturned bucket with a demand to "stay" as he placed Arod in a stall next to Lightfoot and quickly fed both horses.

I waited patiently, my eyes closing dozily as I listened to the barely audible shuffles of him moving around the stables.

Suddenly, I was lifted into strong arms. "What the—?" I gasped, my eyes snapping open to see that Legolas had scooped me up and was carrying me out of the stables towards the citadel. "Put me down, I can walk," I demanded, but the command sounded weak even to my ears.

"You are exhausted and can barely stand," Legolas replied, not slowing one bit. "You are so exhausted, you did not even fight me when I sat you down and told you to stay."

I glanced away, slightly embarrassed to be carried like a child. "I'm not exactly light," I mumbled.

Legolas laughed merrily. "Even dressed in chainmail you do not weigh more than a pittance. And as you said, you have fought in battle for a night and a day, and into another night. I fought only a day and into the night. I am more than capable of carrying you, Elaina love. Allow me this simple act of caring for you."

My eyes had been turned away, but I stole a glance back at him to see his absolute sincerity. And from how much ground he was able to cover—even while carrying me—I must not have been too much of a burden. At least to an elf.

As he walked into the citadel, we did pass the curious but ever silent Citadel Guards. They no doubt wondered what an elf was doing carting a woman around, but thankfully were too polite or too intimidated to ask questions. I gave Legolas directions, and soon we had reached the quarters I'd been locked into more than twenty-four hours before. I did demand Legolas set me down at the door, thankful that my previous guard was gone—likely called away to the battle. A large skeleton key was still in the keyhole, so I unlocked the door and took the key inside the room with me.

"I don't know about you, but I'm dying for a bath," I told Legolas as I turned around and gestured to my blood covered clothes.

Legolas glanced down at himself, stained likewise, though to a far lesser degree since he'd been on a horse above most of the carnage. "A splendid idea," he chuckled, stepping closer and running a single finger down the side of my cheek. I had no doubt it was covered in blood and grime.

"Ahem," I cleared my throat awkwardly, suddenly very aware that we were both alone in my room and just what my intentions for him to spend the night meant. "Maybe I should bathe first and then you can." At his knowing grin, I lifted my chin and shot back, "Otherwise we're liable to never leave that bathroom, and I _do _eventually intend to sleep in that bed."

"Of course," he demurred, that knowing smile still in place. _Where had my blushing elf gone?_ "You are quite right, besides, sleep is what you need most." His face turned serious at his last utterance.

I walked past him, dropping my weapons, chainmail, and vest, and grabbing my pack from the bedside, thankful that I had at least one more set of clean, unstained clothes within it. As I brushed by Legolas, I tossed over my shoulder at him, "Sleep will come eventually; a bath's all I need to wake right up."

* * *

After I had bathed—and refilled the tub with fresh, clean water—I stood naked looking through my pack, trying to decide what to put on. Some sort of lingerie probably would have been appropriate, but I'd never been the type. Not that they had those sorts of garments here anyway.

Eventually, I settled for pulling my last unstained—and unripped—shirt on and leaving the ties open. The shirt opened in a V partway down my chest when it was untied, and the tails reached just down to my thighs.

Shouldering my pack again, I opened the door to the bathroom and walked back into the more spacious bedroom. Legolas had been standing out on the open balcony, but reentered the room when he heard the bathroom door open. He'd removed his dark green jerkin and slipped his boots off. Standing barefoot in only his pants and his loose, white linen shirt.

He smiled as he stared at me, and I suddenly felt shy. His look was more intense than ones I'd received from men when I'd been standing without a stitch of clothing on.

"I, ah, ran fresh water into the tub for you. It was pretty dirty by the time I was done."

My head dipped shyly down as I spoke, but I could hear Legolas slowly walk forward.

He gently took my hand, and lightly pressed a kiss to the palm. "I thank you for caring for my needs," he whispered, and then walked past me into the bathroom.

Once the door had shut, I released the breath I'd been holding, and then dropped my pack next to the bed again and stepped out onto the balcony. There was still a remnant of panic at being in this room again, but stepping out onto the balcony helped. As did being able to see the sky and stars.

It was strange to realize how much I'd missed the stars and sky in those days and nights when the Enemy's cloud had blanketed the sky like a canvas. _Such simple pleasures as stargazing do something to infinitely settle my soul._ Although, I supposed that had more to do with _who_ I was able to see this night, than _what._

"Your hair seems almost brown or black bathed only in moonlight," Legolas said behind me.

I turned around, leaned back against the balcony wall, and observed him leaning against the doorway to the balcony as we stared at each other. He'd only pulled on a clean pair of pants, his slick hair was unbraided and falling over his shoulders in loose waves darkened to an amber wheat by the water.

Irrational nervousness suddenly filled me as I gazed across the space separating us. But Legolas merely waited, letting me gaze at him and calm my nerves. When he held a hand out to me, I stepped forward and placed my own in his, letting him draw me closer.

His gaze drifted down, but I was surprised by the frown that suddenly crossed his face. "What is this?" he asked, his fingers gently probing at the exposed skin of my chest. I looked down to see what had caught his attention.

"Oh, I cut myself trying to get out of a dress," I muttered.

"You cut your way out of a dress?" he repeated, his brows skyrocketing at that.

I explained with a sigh. "It's a long story, but Lord Denethor was afraid I'd ride out to battle like I'd ridden with the Dol Amroth cavalry before, so he had a soldier lock me in my room. He was trying to do what he thought was right, I guess, keeping a woman out of battle, but when I got locked in here, I kinda freaked out and had a full-blown panic attack. Then I couldn't breathe in that stupid dress so I had to cut it off. And when I finally got out, I went down to the battle anyway." I shrugged again. "It's not a big deal."

His fingers traced one of the visible scabs as he closed his eyes, a feeling of pain emanating from him. "And this too you had to bear alone," he whispered.

My hand caressed his cheek as I assured him, "There wasn't anything you could have done. It was just a stupid reaction on my part. I thought I was past having all-out panic attacks like that, but it just happened. No big deal. It's done."

He didn't respond, just stared down at the scab as he traced it.

Eventually, his eyes came back to mine as he motioned back into the room. "Come. You are exhausted and in need of rest. I would hold you for the night as you sleep, or if you would rather, I would be contented with merely watching you sleep. My heart has ached for such simple pleasures." I smiled at his phrasing nearly identical to my earlier thoughts about the stars.

But I stepped past him and walked to the bed, gathering my shirt at the hem and crossing my arms as I pulled it over my head and tossed it aside. I shook my head to resettle the gentle damp curls of my hair, and turned back to face Legolas.

"No. No remorse. I don't want there to be any regrets between us. No more waiting. I know what I want, and so do you. And there will still be plenty of night left for sleeping when we're done." I backed up as I spoke, feeling the edge of the bed press into my back and having to jump slightly to sit on top of the tall bed. With one hand held out in invitation, this time I waited for Legolas to come to me.

* * *

I laid beside Legolas in the bed, trying to catch my breath and remembering the words he'd so reverently spoken to me.

He'd spoken first in elvish, but then repeated them in Westron, "I choose you, Elaina, for all eternity. My life to your life, entwined throughout all time. I bind myself to you hröa and fëa. Body and soul."

I hadn't known if there were specific words I was supposed to say in return, but as I stared into his lust and love darkened eyes, words came easily to my lips, pouring out strangely enough in Silva, the language of my father's people. "_I take you, Legolas, as my mate. Mine alone, for now until the end of time. I give to you in return all that I am. My soul within you, and yours within me. I bind all that you are to me, and all that I am to you. Body and soul._" I had then lowered my lips to his and spoke against them in Westron, "Body and soul."

I shivered at the memory.

"You really do need to teach me Sindarin now. I think I understood maybe one word in twenty that you were saying to me," I laughed in a shaky voice.

I felt him smile against my chest before he finally pulled back, his lips turned up in a sleepy almost lazy grin. "Of course I shall teach you Sindarin, if you shall teach me the language you spoke. It was lovely."

I shivered again, partly at the cold air blowing across my sweaty skin, and partly at him wanting to know anything more about my father's people. Still—"Maybe someday. It's Silva, the language my father's people speak. I'm not even sure why I spoke it. It just came out."

Seeing my shiver, Legolas pulled the disarrayed sheets back up from the foot of the bed and covered us both, laying on our sides the joined hands from the hanfasting he'd insisted on between us on the mattress. He'd seemed intrigued by my explanation, but didn't immediately address it.

"Do you wish me to close the door to the balcony?"

"No!" I cleared my throat and said more sedately, "No. Better not. I don't think I could fall asleep in here if I didn't know I could easily get outside."

Amazingly, he accepted my strange demand in stride, only moving to tuck the blankets tighter around my body.

"Your father's people speak a language called Silva?" At my nod he continued, "It seems achingly similar to the language we speak in Mirkwood, yet I cannot quite catch the words with my ear."

"It doesn't sound like Sindarin to me," I told him, trying to remember the few Sindarin words I knew.

"Nay, not Sindarin, but Silvan. My people long spoke Silvan before we learned Sindarin to communicate with other elves, but we still use Silvan much at home, especially in ceremony."

"And it sounds like Silva?"

"Similar, but not the same." He paused and then said something, presumably in Silvan.

I popped up on my elbow and looked down at him. "You're right. My brain feels like it should almost know that, but I can't quite catch it. What did you say?"

"I love you."

With a grin, I lowered myself back to the bed, pushing the matter away for the moment. There would be time to dwell on the eerie similarities later

"So, we're married now?"

He chuckled at my words and kissed our joined hands. "Indeed. We are now wed. Perhaps not how I had imagined it, but no imagining could have done this binding justice."

"Yeah, it wasn't like anything I'd imagined, either. But I have to say I'd recommend it over those silly church weddings any day."

"'Church?'" he repeated, his free hand reaching out to twirl a curl of my hair around his fingers.

"A place of worship where my people generally hold their wedding ceremonies."

"Do you regret not having such a ceremony?"

"Naw. No way. I couldn't have imagined anything better. A blend of your elvish customs and my mother's Celtic ones. Perfect."

With a silly happy smile, I told him, "You know, I could almost believe in fairytales."

"'Fairytales?'" he repeated.

I chuckled darkly and explained, "They had nothing to do with my father's people—well, not really anyway, other than having these little fairies in them that are nothing like the real Fae—but they are stories humans in my world tell their children. They always start out with 'Once upon a time,' and then end with 'And they all lived Happily Ever After.' It's usually about some helpless princess locked in a tower and or guarded by a dragon or witch or some other frightening thing, waiting for her dream prince to come along and rescue her from the dragon, or witch, or ogre. And it always ends with the prince triumphing over evil and riding away with the princess to live happily forever."

I laughed as I remembered my mother's versions. They were usually more Celtic influenced tales, and far darker. "Even though I could have only been two or so, I remember my mother telling me that the stories parents told their children about 'Happily Ever After' were cruel lies to tell children. That stories should never be ended with 'Happily Ever After' because that's not where the story really ends. There's always more, and she said it was rarely happy. She always said the best a story could have for an ending was to say, 'and they lived happily from that day 'til this.' She said you never knew what would happen after one story had ended."

I looked back into Legolas's curious eyes. He was obviously waiting patiently for me to come to my point. "I'm just saying that here and now, I can believe that there could be unending happiness in store for us. Not just happiness until _this_ point in the story."

"We shall be happy for as long as _I _have any say in the matter," he assured me. "Though, I could never see you being as the 'helpless princess' you describe in these types of stories. Your own story would not tell of you waiting passively for your savior," he added with a brow raised in challenge.

I laughed when I realized I had indeed just been "locked in a tower," but he was right, I hadn't waited for my prince to rescue me. I fought a girlish giggle as I said, "No, maybe not, but my handsome prince did still come."

"Indeed," he laughed.

And then it hit me. "Oh god, you really are a prince, too. Does that make me a princess?" I gasped, popping up on my elbow.

But Legolas laughed even harder at me, rolling onto his back, and dragging our bound hands across his chest with him. "One would think some horror has just befallen you from the look on your face. Tis not so bad a thing, is it?"

I flopped down on my stomach, my arm still stretched across his chest as I buried my head in my pillow. "Yes," I said, the sound coming out muffled, so I turned my head to face his laughing eyes and continued. "I've avoided my father and that political bullshit for most of my life, and now, I fall smack dab in the middle of it in one night."

Legolas tugged on our joined hands and drug my upper body partially over his chest until I was looking down into his eyes. "I do not understand," he said. "You speak of your father and 'political bullshit,' what exactly do you speak of?"

I sighed, not really wanting to get into it, but feeling like Legolas had more than the right to know at least the broad strokes of my homicidal family now. I dropped back onto his chest and stared blankly at the stone wall as I spoke into the still warm skin of his chest. "It's why my father found my mother and had a child with her. She was descended from one of the oldest Celtic families, one that was supposed to have had a lot of old and powerful magic in its history. Some of it was Fae magic, from times throughout history when the Fae stole daughters of our line and impregnated them. I don't remember all the details, but my mother's family was supposed to have been quite powerful. They were always at war with the Fae, and usually got their daughters back before they gave birth, but the deed was done so to speak, and Fae blood was introduced into the family bloodline. But anyway, there was other magic in our family too, Druid magic was the most powerful in our line, and it was said that mixing the Fae blood with the Druid and other magics made our family extremely powerful for a time. Powerful enough that even the Fae had to back off and avoided them. An uneasy treaty or at least an informal truce was formed, and they left each other alone for hundreds and hundreds of years. But in the recent generations of my mother's family, the blood and magic had weakened.

"I guess my father thought infusing more Fae blood with my mother's bloodline would recreate the powerful magic that it had produced in the past." I shrugged absently. "But it didn't work like he'd planned. I was born, and while I have some Fae attributes—I can speak Silva, _feel _magic, and a few other things, none of it was the ability to really _perform_ magic like he'd hoped."

"But you can feel emotion and hear thoughts," Legolas pointed out, his chest rumbling beneath my ear and cheek.

"Yeah, but that's not a Fae trait. Not magic. My grandmother once said she thought it might trace back to the Druid part of her line, but I don't know."

"Why was your father so eager to have offspring capable of strong magic?"

"To kill his father."

I felt Legolas's startled jerk beneath me, so I continued. "My grandfather is, I guess you'd say, king, or emperor of the Fae, and my father covets his position. But matching strength for strength, my grandfather's much stronger since he's so old. His reign has lasted longer than any other Fae before him."

"Then you are a princess in your own right," Legolas said in a shocked voice.

I braced my free hand on the mattress and propped myself up to look down into his eyes as I shook my head. "No. That's not how the Fae do things. Fae are immortal just like elves are, but like I said, they're a brutal and violent race. Their rule isn't decided by bloodline, but by strength alone. The new ruler isn't chosen by birthright, he takes it by assassination. I'm merely descended from the current king; it doesn't _make _me anything to him or his reign. Not that he even knows his wayward son has a daughter. And my grandfather'll rule until he's killed, maybe by my father—who's certainly ruthless and conniving enough—or eventually by some other Fairy."

He stared up at me in shock. "A most brutal race," he finally observed in a quiet tone. "But you would not have to worry about such violent animosities or struggles amongst my kindred. We do not even have to remain in Mirkwood, as I once told you. We can settle in any land you would prefer."

I pulled away and laid on my side again, my mind lost in memories of my father and his machinations to become the new ruler of the Fae, wondering if I was really so different from him. I was a soldier. I'd killed men and many different creatures now.

Legolas tugged on my hand bound with his to get my attention, even placing another kiss on my knuckles. "You are nothing like your father nor his kindred. There is nothing violent nor brutal in your spirit. You are a warrior, yes, but no different from elven warriors. You fight to protect, but mourn those who must be slain in battle. That you possess such kindness and love in your heart is all the more precious to me now. I know it was difficult to speak of, but I thank you for telling me more of your father's people."

Relaxing at his words, I smiled and said, "Thank you for always saying the right things and knowing just what's bothering me."

I watched a drop of sweat race down his shoulder and across his pec muscle, fighting the urge to reach over and lick the moisture away. He must have seen something of the desire in my eyes though, for he grinned arrogantly and pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder.

My body started to heat again in response.

Legolas saw the passion rising in my eyes and gave that self-satisfied chuckle again. "The hour is late and you have been long without sleep and greatly taxed by battle and now our binding. You should rest, Elaina love."

I shook my head and pushed at our joined hands until he'd rolled onto his back once more, noting that he easily rolled over, not fighting me in the slightest despite what he'd said. "I'm not that tired. Not yet." My free hand stroked down his flat stomach. "And neither are you," I told him with a grin.

We did sleep eventually, but by then, we were _both_ well exhausted.


	8. Que Sera, Sera

**Chapter 8: Que Sera, Sera**

I jerked awake with a start, my mind still lost in the coattails of nightmare. But at least it hadn't been yet another Vala with warnings. Blinking my eyes, I tried to remember where I was.

It didn't take long for it all to come back. As I looked down from where I was propped up on my elbow, I could stare into Legolas's serene face. Oddly enough, his eyes were closed as he slept, one hand still bound to mine and curled up by his head, the other low on my back, his fingers splaying lower over the swell of my hip and butt. His chest was bare as I stared down at him, but I realized it hadn't been only a moment before. I was sprawled across his front as I slept on my stomach, our legs entwined even as I had burrowed into his chest, covering him like a living blanket.

His eyes blinked lazily open, as though aware of my perusal.

"I've never seen you sleep with your eyes closed," I couldn't help but telling him. "I've seen you sleeping a few times on our journey, but your eyes were always open and sort of glassed over." This had truly seemed strange enough at the time.

He smiled as his free hand slid sensually up my back in feather-light caresses, that satisfied, almost arrogant grin returning when I shuddered in response. The arrogance would have bothered me, except for the fact that it was well earned—my body shuddered and coiled in answer to even his simple touch. But his hand continued its path until he'd laced his fingers in the hair at my nape and tugged me downward, back to lie on his chest, seeking a gentle kiss.

I let him pull me down, pressing my lips briefly to his in a closed mouth kiss before I pulled away to expectantly await his answer.

He laughed, a light happy sound that bounced me up and down on his chest in time with his movements. "Elves often seek only a light reverie when we are traveling, it is a light rest which allows us to remain wary of our surroundings, but we do need deeper rests as well. Especially if we are injured, ill, or it has been a particularly extended period without real rest. Short respites of reverie each night can last us many months. Yet, rarely do we sleep thus outside of Elven homes, and only when we are completely at ease."

"You're at ease with me? But it hasn't been _that _long since we left Lórien. It was an Elven home. And I've seen you in short bits of reverie many nights since. I'm just surprised to see you actually sleeping."

Legolas's fingers curled and twined in my hair at my nape, lightly scratching my scalp and forcing me to bite off a moan at the sensations. _Who the hell knew having your hair and scalped massaged could be such a sensual experience?_

"How could I be more at ease? You are within my arms, your heart beating against mine. In answer to your other inquiry, I fear I got little rest, even in reverie after you had departed with Mithrandir. Reverie requires some degree of tranquility and peace to achieve, and I fear mine had fled to Gondor with the wizard."

He gave a lopsided smile as he spoke, and I lowered myself onto his chest again, pressing a kiss of apology to the skin over his heart. "I didn't sleep well either while I was away," I admitted into his smooth flesh.

With a grunt of agreement, he continued curling his fingers in my hair. "I feared as much. On our journey, I observed you in sleep little, far less than even Aragorn, yet last night, I watched you sleep peacefully for near an hour before I let myself slip into sleep. And we have slept well past daybreak now."

I turned my head on his chest and looked out the balcony doors; light was indeed spilling across them. "Huh. I can't remember when the last time was I slept so late."

_Just wish I wasn't woken up by the same old thing._

"What did wake you?" Legolas asked.

I glanced back down into his eyes with a frown. "Just bad dreams. Nothing to worry about."

His hand stilled in my hair. "Tell me." It was spoken quietly, but his eyes said he wouldn't let up.

With a reluctant sigh, I rolled off Legolas's chest and onto my side again, making it easier to look each other in the eye. "I guess I hadn't really slept more than a couple of hours here and there—light napping really, not deep sleep. I don't think I've slept deep enough to dream since Rohan maybe. Maybe longer. But I had terrible dreams of Sauron being in my mind again and of being trapped and a prisoner once more. Nothing I haven't dreamt before—except for Sauron, I guess—no big deal. They're just dreams."

He made a disbelieving noise. "Yes, your dreams are not a problem," he said in a sarcastic tone. "Save for the fact that they keep you from receiving the rest you need."

I shrugged, wondering if it was my tendency towards sarcasm was rubbing off on him. "I've never needed as much sleep as normal humans do. My little gift for being one-quarter fairy, I guess."

I shrugged and changed the topic. "What about you? Do elves dream like mortals do?"

His frown said he saw the diversionary question for what it was, but he shook his head and answered anyway. "Elves do dream, yet not in the manner I understand mortal dreams to be. Mortals have no control over the course of their dream, but as we age, elves learn to take our dreams down our own chosen paths."

"And where do you choose to steer your dreams?" I wondered wistfully.

With gentle caresses, Legolas traced the pads of his fingertips across my face, the long digits following paths I couldn't see. "I was imagining that I had met you years earlier, before time had placed any mark upon you, when you were years younger than you are now."

I jerked away from his hand, confused and baffled by his admission. "What, am I too old for you? I know I'm no spring chicken, but I assure you, I look pretty damn good for my age."

At the bitterness in my voice, Legolas's mouth dropped open, though no words came out as he gaped and seemed to replay his words through his mind.

"Nay!" he denied with a gasp, pressing frantic and apologetic kisses to the hand bound with his before I could try to pull it away as well. "I have spoken poorly. Forgive my words. That was not my intent. I merely meant that I wished we had met sooner so that I would have as many of your mortal years to myself as I am able." He scooted closer to me on the bed, pressing kisses against my face. "Never had I meant to imply I found your beauty lacking! Your years and experiences have only deepened your beauty, giving it depth no shallow, girlish youth could possess. Though you are not given to smiling often, each time a smile lights your face—especially when you grace me with one—my breath is stolen by its beauty, for I know the depths of sorrow you have felt, and I marvel that such smiles and gentleness still thrive in your heart."

I chuckled and shook my head, a small smile stealing across my lips despite myself. "If you can recover that spectacularly in every argument, I don't think we'll ever have to worry about constant fighting like some married couples."

He grinned, looking relieved. "My lord father had assured me I would one day quarrel with my lady wife, and that the sooner I saw and admitted my fault, the best I could minimize the damage." He shook his head while a rueful grin crept in. "Yet I never imagined how right he would be, nor how soon I would prove my father a wise ellon."

I laughed at his expression, the one children wore when they realized their parents might know a thing or two. I'd found myself thinking more and more of my mother since arriving in Middle-earth, and realizing she knew a few things as well.

"Well, you're already ahead of me," I chuckled. "If we have great rows, it'll probably be more because _I _am the one who won't be able to say she was wrong."

"Ahh, but my father told that after great rows was the joy of reconciliation."

As he spoke, he grinned and moved closer, kissing me with a gentle but insistent demand, until he'd left me gasping for air.

He looked away as he whispered, "I shall never regret that you do not possess the frivolous desires and emotions of youth, but my heart is haunted by the thought of how fleeting your mortal years shall seem."

"How old do you think I am?"

His eyes snapped back to mine, seeming almost suspicious of the question, so I smiled to let him know it was no trap.

"I do not ... that is to say ... I have not a great deal of knowledge on how mortals age," he stuttered, still seeming to feel it was a trick question. So I made an encouraging motion with my hand. He reached out and traced a finger around one side of my mouth as he continued. "Your skin is still taut and clear with the remnants of youth, yet the slightest of shadows have begun where one day a line of age and experience shall lie. You have told me of your years in your people's military, as well as your captivity and years as a police officer," he spoke the last words slowly, trying to enunciate "police" correctly. "By those years of experience I should think that your face would hold a greater reflection of that passage of time and hardships, yet I see it in your eyes alone, save for your scars. Your face holds such a strange pairing of youth and depth. I have not seen the like in the Rohirrim nor in these Gondorians, only Aragorn reminds of this mysterious blending. Though his ancestry is Dúnedain and not as other mortals."

A light seemed to go off in his eyes. "The Dúnedain trace their blood back to Elros—to Elven blood. You too are descended from an immortal race. Does that—"

His words seemed to die in his throat, as though from a fear to speak them.

I dipped my head in a single nod. "I don't know how it compares to the Dúnedain, but my aging hasn't progressed like a normal human's since I went through puberty, so I'm older than I look. My father is well over five-hundred years, and still possesses that handsome Fae quality of youth, though now gracefully lined by his many years. His hair is still quite dark however, not yet turning to gray. I am myself now over ninety-two, I believe. I was born sometime during the Irish War of Independence. I remember my mother saying she lost two of her brothers to it the same year I was born. I'm just unsure of the exact year."

"Ninety-two," he gasped in wonder, and I could see the wheels turning as he tried to estimate how many years I might have left.

"I just don't know, Legolas. As you so diplomatically put it, I've just begun to show the shadows of lines and wrinkles, so I won't last near the five-hundred years my father has already made." I shrugged. "I just can't say."

"Why did you not tell me this?" he demanded, his face still full of happy wonder.

"What was I supposed to say? Hi, I'm from another world and not really like humans here. Can I tag along with you guys since I'm lost? Oh, and by the way, I don't look like it, but I'm actually old enough to be your great-grandmother."

He grinned and suddenly pressed a deep kiss to my lips, his tongue sweeping out in a demand for entrance. In my surprise, I gasped and let him lead.

All too soon, he pulled back and said, "You forget that I am far older than even your ninety-two years; more than two thousand years I have seen. I am overjoyed at the thought that we shall have many years yet together. An eternity would not seem enough, yet I shall strive to fill what years Ilúvatar shall grant us with bliss."

He kissed me again and then went on, "It is a wonderful thing to me! I am relieved to think of how many years we shall yet have. Your immortal bloodline seems even stronger than Aragorn's. His face is slightly more lined by age than yours, yet he has seen eighty-eight years now."

"Eighty-eight years?" I laughed. "I can't _believe_ I'm older than Aragorn! I was counting on _one _mortal being older than me."

I grinned at Legolas's laughing and infectious happiness, finding such laughter and jubilant smiles more of a turn on than anything I'd ever seen or experienced before. I pushed on our bound hands again until I could move to straddle Legolas's waist. Laughing at the happy, boyish grin he flashed as he readily let me straddle his hips.

"Are you sure you won't grow bored at the prospect of even more years stuck with me?"

"Nay. Never," he solemnly answered, wrapping his arm around my waist and sliding me forward on his chest, pressing his lips to my stomach until he laved the skin there. "I shall show you every day how enthralled I am with you. Never will I grow bored," he promised, the movements of his lips caressing and tickling the sensitive skin of my navel.

Sex and sleep had invigorated me, but my body was still pleasantly—and somewhat unpleasantly—sore from our night and the long battle before.

I groaned slightly as I stretched my back, the vertebra popping audibly into different positions. Legolas immediately froze, his face awash with concern.

"You wouldn't happen to have any Tylenol or aspirin would you?" I ruefully asked.

"Nay, for I know not what they are," he answered, his eyes roaming over my body, but the previous lustful glean had vanished, replaced with concern. I lamented the loss and feel of his lustful gaze. His hands skimmed over the scabs on my chest, but lingered on the bruises on my chest and side from the previous days.

"Thank god for chainmail," I joked before he could work himself up. "And that bullet-proof vest you kept all that time."

He gave a heavy sigh, but didn't comment.

"It's no big deal. In a couple of weeks, they'll be gone. Besides," I gave my best coy smile, "I know of a few ways to stretch out my sore muscles."

I leaned down to coax him into a better mood, determined to play dirty if I had to.

My hand clenched around his, reminding me that it had been bound in that position all night as it cramped.

"I think we can take this off now," I told Legolas as I started to untie the gold cord around our hands.

But I froze at the sound of the heavy wood door creaking open. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Nethiel standing frozen just inside the door, a look of unadulterated shock and scandal on her young face. And then she turned and fled from the room, the door closing with a thud behind her.

"Perhaps I should have locked the door," Legolas commented, just as I was saying,

"Shit! Now Nethiel really _is _going to think I'm a hooker!" I exclaimed, remembering Nethiel's mutterings the other day that I wore as little clothing as a streetwalker did.

I hopped up, dragging Legolas with me by our joined hands as I ran to the door, shoving Legolas behind it even as I opened the door and peeked my head out into the hallway.

"Nethiel!" I called, barely raising my voice so not to attract too much attention as I tried to stop her from hurrying down the hallway.

The girl stopped and turned around reluctantly. "Yes, my lady?" she queried, her eyes glued to the floor and her cheeks bursting with color.

I smiled a bit at her careful and hesitant manner. "I'm not mad at you, Nethiel," I told the girl. "But I was wondering if you could possibly bring some breakfast for me and my husband?"

Her head jerked up. "Husband?" she repeated. I nodded and could see the relieved smile spread across her lips. _She really _did_ think I was some kind of prostitute!_ "Of course. I shall fetch a morning repast at once," she declared, and turned to hurry off once more, at least no longer running _away_ from some scandalous scene.

Pulling my head back in the room, I saw Legolas leaning with his back against the door, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"What is a 'hooker?'" he asked.

I was torn between laughing and being horrified at hearing the word cross his lips.

But I settled on laughter.

"It's a word from my world, slang I guess we'd call it. Umm ... a colloquial term? It's another word for a prostitute." Seeing the same look of confusion, I tried again. "It's a woman—although I guess it can be a man as well—but traditionally, it's a woman who sells the pleasures of her body to men for coin."

Legolas's mouth dropped open as he sputtered, but no words came out.

"Relax. Nethiel had no idea you'd be in here. It just surprised her is all."

"Perhaps we would do well to lock the door in the future," Legolas said, sounding slightly perturbed. Whether by being caught in a nearly compromising position or at what I'd said Nethiel had assumed, I couldn't determine.

"Can't. Remember? This door only locks from the outside. But I've got the skeleton key—I just hope it's the only one—but I suppose we could shove something against the door," I mused, leading Legolas back to the bed.

As we sat down, I began untying the cord once more. Legolas's countenance eventually lifted, finally smiling as he helped untie the knots he'd hastily placed the night before.

He glanced at the hearth in the room. "You explained that the rope or ribbon used for handfasting was to be kept above the hearth of the home for good luck. But we have not a home yet, what shall we do with it?"

I watched him fingering the cord as I considered it. "You keep it for now. And one day, we'll have a hearth we can place it over."

He nodded and walked around to the other side of the bed where his own pack and clothes lay. I watched him walk, smiling at how completely at ease he seemed with walking around the room in the nude.

_If he keeps walking around like that, I'm liable to drag him back into bed for dessert!_

Looking up, he caught my stare and a smile split his face as he stood from his pack, his brow lifting in question. "Perhaps we can have dessert before breakfast is served?"

My smile melted away as I felt my jaw drop. Legolas had turned his attention back to his pack, his face once more turned away. _I didn't say that out loud, _I carefully thought.

Legolas instantly froze, his face going slack as he slowly turned to face me.

I jumped to my feet, throwing my previously lax barriers hastily back in place. "How could you?" I demanded. "You can hear my thoughts and never told me!"

"Nay!" he vehemently denied, his face scrunching almost in pain, reminding me of the grimace Galadriel had made when I'd pushed her out of my thoughts. "This has never before happened. I do not know why it has occurred now."

"You don't know why? You just suddenly started hearing my thoughts?" I asked, my voice unable to hide my dubious feelings.

"Nay," he repeated. He stared down at the bed between us for a moment, and then slowly raised his head and turned towards me. "Unless our binding has somehow caused this change to occur."

"Oh shit!" I breathed, my eyes squeezing shut. "I'm so sorry, I never thought in a million years this would actually happen. That it _could_ happen."

"I admit, I had not thought it could occur either," Legolas said, his voice vacillating between apologetic and excitement. "Yet I find myself pleasantly surprised. Never have I heard of a True Binding occurring outside of Elven couples."

"What—wait—what?" I stuttered, stumbling over my tongue in confusion.

"Our binding. I had thought it could only be symbolic; it had never occurred to me that we would be able to achieve a True Binding. Ilúvatar himself must bless our union," he said, his voice speeding up and his excited grin spreading

But I was still confused. "What do you mean, 'True Binding?' What is that?"

His smile slipped a little. "When Elven couples join and perform the words of binding, their souls are entwined and blessed by Eru. For each couple the binding is different. Some gain special abilities they share with their bondmate, but all can sense the wellbeing of their bondmate within their very soul. It had not yet occurred to me, that the happiness and joy I was feeling were not merely my own. I realize now that I can distinguish your feelings separately from my own. I have heard of bondmates who can speak mind to mind and send one another their thoughts before, though I believe it is a rare gift."

I sat sideways on the edge of the bed, trying to piece all the new pieces together.

"What did you mean that you were 'sorry?'" he asked. "You said you did not think this could happen, yet you seem to not have known about Elven bindings. What were you speaking of?"

Glancing up, I stared at Legolas's face. He must have seen something of the lost feelings I had and the shock that had set in. He came around the bed and sat beside me, taking my hands gently between his.

"Tell me," he urged.

"I thought—I always thought they were just old stories, I never thought it was true, because fairies just don't love. Not that I've ever seen or known anyway. They do everything in their power not to."

"I do not understand," Legolas answered when I'd stopped.

"Fairies have a similar—binding, I guess, for lack of a better word—that binds two fairies' lives together. It was said to have only been done, and only worked when there was great love between the two. And that the stronger the love, the more tightly they were bound, until the death of one meant the death of the other. Over time, fairies stopped allowing themselves to love even other fairies, because they feared having that kind of love and binding themselves in such a way that could result in their deaths. You see—for all that the ancient stories said that fairies were capable of great feats of love—they are usually quite selfish and love themselves more. I guess over time, they just quit allowing themselves to fall prey to love at all, and taught their children the same. I've never heard any current stories of Fae that are bound together, so I thought they were just stories." I shook my head. "Silva is said to have a bit of magic in the language itself, I wonder if that's what did it?"

We sat silently as we both digested things.

"Then it appears our bloodlines' similar customs have allowed us to bind as well," Legolas decided.

"I guess," I agreed. "But what if—what if this is more like a Fae binding than an Elven one? What if I've tied your life to mine? I don't want anything to happen to you."

Legolas touched my cheek softly with his fingertips. "What happens shall be as it was meant to be. But how can we say what kind of binding this is?" he shrugged.

"I didn't think any of those thoughts _at_ you," I told him, trepidation setting in. "I was just thinking those things in my head. You heard my _thoughts. _I didn't _speak _to your mind like you said was possible in some Elven bindings." Seeing his puzzled look, I continued, "Fae bindings were said to have a few advantages to go along with what they saw as disadvantages. For one, some of the special powers, or magic that one had, were often shared with their mate. My telepathy isn't magic; you _read_ my thoughts."

He touched his hand to his chest over his heart. "Yet I can _feel _you here. Is that an aspect of Fae binding?"

"I just don't know, Legolas. Not that I recall from the stories, but it could be, I guess," I answered with a shrug.

He laughed lightly. "It does not matter. Whether our binding is Elven or Fae in nature, or some combination, I care not. We must trust that Eru has properly guided or binding as it was meant to be. It is a blessing to be granted a True Binding, and we have much time to figure out the details of our bond."

Pulling me forward, he sealed his lips over mine, not giving up, or being satisfied with a passive response, but demanding until I'd started responding and getting lost in the sensations. Eager for more.

With more force than I cared to admit, I turned my head away. "Enough of that," I laughingly scolded. "Nethiel will be back before we know it. And I don't think she deserves that kind of shock twice in one morning—the poor girl." I still didn't know what to think of this morning's revelation, but maybe Legolas was right. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. One thing was for sure, there was no going back now. These kinds of bindings were said to be completely unbreakable.

Legolas only chuckled and retrieved his leggings, bending to finally pull them on. "I fear you are correct, Elaina," he said with a touch of wistful sadness to his voice. "We should find Aragorn and the others as well."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Time marches on. War stops for no one."

Legolas walked back around the foot of the bed as I was pulling my own pants on, his shirt already smoothed over his chest. He softly cupped my cheek and chastely kissed my lips. "We shall find time to sate our desires when these dark days have lifted. As well as discover the intricacies of our bond." The mischievous grin returned as he kissed me more lingeringly, stealing my breath once more. "And until then," he continued, "we shall steal what moments we can as we did last night."

I stepped back. "Careful," I warned, my breathing shallower than a kiss should have dictated. "You keep doing that and I'll steal a moment now. Virgin servant girl, be damned."

His only reply was to steal another kiss before darting back from the hands that would have demanded more and chuckling as he walked around the foot of the bed to finish dressing.

"Naughty, teasing elf," I muttered as I dug through my pack and sullenly pulled the rest of my clothes on. The initial shock of our binding—Fae or Elven—was wearing off. I found that it didn't frighten me as much as it had at first. But maybe that was the effect of the soothing feelings I was certain were coming from Legolas.

I found that just as Legolas could, I could reach within myself, and find Legolas there, right in the center of myself it seemed. It was different from hearing his thoughts or sensing his feelings in my mind. In my mind, I had to interpret the emotion. But where he dwelled in my heart, no interpretation was needed. It was as though his being had become an extension of my own, and I intuitively understood what his emotions were.

Legolas only laughed louder at my mutterings.

But at least my shields seemed to be keeping him out of my thoughts. _That _was still a bit much to handle.

And a part of me felt complete at our teasing and lighthearted banter. As well as having him dwelling within my heart. I finally felt—whole. As cheesy and clichéd as it sounded.

_Mmmmm, _this, _is a marriage. I never really knew what it was or what it truly meant before, _I thought to myself. And I was glad to have known it now, even if only for this moment in time.

* * *

After we had eaten the meal Nethiel brought, we donned our weapons again. This time I did pull on my cloak, but couldn't decide on whether or not to drag my pack with. I set it on the bed and quickly dug through it, looking to see if there was anything I might need.

"What's this?" I muttered to myself as my hands grazed something hard in the bottom corner of my pack.

"What have you found?" Legolas asked, coming to stand beside me.

Pulling my hand out, I displayed my find in my open palm.

"I'd forgotten about this," I said, looking up to see Legolas's gaze locked on the wooden figure of a girl. He'd given the figurine back to me all that time ago in Lórien.

"Why did you keep this all that time?" I finally asked him.

He tore his gaze away and met my eyes, such depth of emotion shinning there, it nearly stole my breath. "I cannot say why I first kept it. You intrigued me from the start, even when you loathed the very sight of me. I wanted to know more about you and how you came to be so unlike any mortal or elf I have ever known and what about me frightened you. Yet you did not want me near you. I thought perhaps if I studied the figurine you had carved, I might be able to understand you."

He reached out and ran a finger over the curls on the wooden girl's head. "After you thawed to my presence, I still kept it, knowing that you were beginning to mean much to me, though I understood not how for a long time. I held it for many hours as I contemplated you and just what you meant to me."

I held the figurine up higher. "Then why did you give it back to me that night?"

His smile quirked upwards a bit, yet it was more sad than even wistful. "You were so happy in Lothlórien; so many smiles lit your face in those days. I hoped this smiling figure would always be something to bring another smile to your face, though I feared I might never smile again myself."

I reached forward with my other hand, placing it on his upper arm as I held onto him. "Then why didn't you give me a reason to go with you? Why did you say nothing and let me walk away that night?" I demanded, my voice sounding low and almost desperate.

His smile turned sadder if possible. "I wanted you to find happiness. I wanted that most of all. You were happy in Lothlórien. You were happy with the marchwarden, and I had nothing to offer you."

I shoved lightly at his shoulder. "I was happy with _you, _ya jerk. I _wanted _to be happy with Haldir, but I never would have been. But I needed you to give me something. Tell me something. And you really need to stop trying to think for me. I know what I want. All you ever need to offer me is _you._"

His face softened somewhat, his smile losing just a bit of its sadness. "I know not what home I can ever offer you—what life I can offer. Perhaps you made a poor bargain in not staying with the marchwarden. In not remaining in happiness in Lothlórien."

My hand slid down his arm to grasp his fingers, turning them until his palm faced up and I could press the figurine back into his hand. "Keep that. As a reminder that I'm happy with _you, _ya stubborn elf. I don't want or need anyone else. And we'll find a home together. Eventually."

He held the figurine in both hands, looking unsure.

So I closed his fingers over it, saying, "Keep it. I want you to have it. My wedding present to you. To remember how happy you've made me."

He finally smiled and slipped the wooden figure into a leather pouch on his belt. "I have nothing to gift to you," he lamented.

"You've given me more than I ever thought possible: happiness. And besides, you already gave me this beautiful ring." I told him, looking down at the sparkling red stone. "It's customary in my world for the bride to give her groom a ring to wear as well, marking their union. And I don't have one for you. But I will. This I promise. I'll find one for you."

His expression had finally lifted as he laughed. "This custom sounds appealing, but as you say, I can wait. One day I shall find you a home, just as I am certain you will find me a ring."

I moved closer and gripped the crisscrossing straps of his quiver and pack, pulling on them as I stood up on my toes and quickly kissed him. "All I have to do is get you a ring and you'll find me a house? Sounds like a one-sided deal to me, but okay, I know better than to argue with a bargain like that."

He grinned in return as he held me in place with an arm wrapped around my waist. "Ahh, but as my lady wife, I shall need much input from you as to what you wish for in a house and home."

With a grin, I said, "Easy. Nothing in a big city. A beautiful view. And you. That's all I require."

I dropped back down onto my heels and turned towards the door, his hand still in mine. "Come on, let's go find the others and get this over with."

"What are we getting 'over with?'"

"Telling them we're married now. I can't wait to see the surprise on their faces," I chuckled as we stepped into the hallway.

I hummed a bit as we walked, imagining in my mind what the guys would say. Hell, even imagining what my old partner Mike would say if he could see me now. Married. And actually happy for once. Truly happy, not just plodding along through my life.

"What are you humming?"

Rather than tell him, I decided to sing the first half of the song.

"When I was just a little girl

I asked my mother, what will I be

Will I be pretty, will I be rich

Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love

I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead

Will we have rainbows, day after day

Here's what my sweetheart said.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be."*

* * *

**A/N: **I know it's another chapter with just Lane and Legolas, and not much action, but everyone else will be back in the next one and we'll return to some action.

Also, for those of you who read the extended version of Chapter 7, what did you all think? I didn't get much feedback on it, so let me know. Good, bad, ugly, whatever. I know it's impossible to please everyone with a style on these things, but I haven't written a scene like that for this fandom, so tell me if it was too detailed, not enough, or sounded off, whatever your thoughts were. I am trying to learn here!

But, anyway, let me know what you thought! I love hearing from you guys!

*_Que Sera Sera _does not belong to me and is Copyright: Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., JAY LIVINGSTON MUSIC, INC.

Songwriters: LIVINGSTON, JAY / EVANS, RAY


	9. The Ups and Downs of Matrimony

**A/N: **Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out, I've had it done for a week, but I've been busy all this week and couldn't get it posted. I've been letting my neighbor gal keep her horse with my bunch and been trying to help her learn more about horses. She's eager, but still pretty new and needs a lot of help, so it takes a lot of time to go for what used to be a simple ride, lol. I never realized how long it takes to explain the basics of things, or how long it takes to answer all the little questions about things you just know and haven't thought about in years. It gives me a lot of sympathy for parents teaching kids all those little things every day!

**Chapter 9: The Ups and Downs of Matrimony **

***~* Marriage is a romance in which the hero dies in the first chapter ~ Anonymous *~***

***~* Marriage is an adventure, like going to war ~ G. K. Chesterton *~***

"What is the 'Irish War of Independence?'" Legolas asked as we walked along.

I slowed down my gait, trying to remember when I'd even mentioned it. "Oh. Right. I mentioned it when I said how old I was. Ireland is the country where I was born. They were fighting another country, England, to break away from her rule around the time I was born."

"I thought you said once that your home country was called the United Stated of America?"

"Yeah," I chuckled darkly. "I've always considered it my country. It's where I've lived most of my life, I guess. But I was actually born in Ireland, across the sea. My mother's people are Celtic, an Irish people. When I was living in the US, I had to routinely change my name and identity as I moved around so people didn't notice I wasn't aging normally. Eventually I got papers and an ID that said I was a born American citizen so I could become a Marine."

"The sea," Legolas muttered, longing in his voice, but then he shook his head, seeming confused by a lot of what I'd said. "Then your name is not Elaina?" he finally asked.

I laughed harder at his dismayed look, tugging on Legolas's hand to pull him to a stop. "Actually, Elaina really is the name my mother gave me. I've used many different ones since, but I always go by Elaina from time to time."

"And the name Rowan?" he asked.

My head tilted as I wondered where he'd heard the last name I'd most recently used.

"You introduced yourself as Detective Elaina Rowan when you first arrived in this world." A devilish grin suddenly split his face. "Though I suppose it would be rightly said that first you introduced yourself to me by breaking my nose and pressing my knife to my throat. But later you introduced yourself to the others with your name. I also heard Lady Galadriel address you thus."

My hand flew to cover my mouth in horror as I recalled my aggressive and defensive reaction after I'd been shot in the vest and then felt a hand suddenly descend on my shoulder as I had tried to recover the breath that had been knocked out of me. "My god, I can't believe you ever wanted anything to do with me after that. Not to mention I treated you like a bitch for so long afterward."

"Nay," he laughed. "It was truly not so long as that. You were perhaps standoffish for a time, but you finally eased to my presence."

I glanced down at our entwined fingers. "Guess I did more than that," I laughed, stepping into him and kissing his chin when he didn't lower his head to meet me. I chuckled at a naughty thought. "You must be masochistic—I mean, you must be a glutton for punishment. What in the world possibly interested you in me? Or do all males just have a streak of attraction for females who are cruel to them?"

He laughed. "Very much you remind me of a mother bear. Great is your roar in warning, and greater still is your bite if pressed, but to those you show your love, there is only kindness and such gentleness, though ever the fierce protectiveness remains."

I felt my cheeks heat. "Not exactly how a Marine imagines others thinking of them as," I muttered, wondering if I'd ever been called "gentle" before.

"Rowan?" he reminded.

I lowered back down to my heels with a sigh.

"Honestly? I've wondered for a long time what possessed me to go by Rowan this last time 'round when I bought new paperwork and ID for myself. My father's father was said to have frequented Kievan Rus', or as it was known then, the land of the Rus, which later became part of Russia." Legolas began looking lost, so I waved it away. "That's not important. Anyway, my grandfather was of course Fae, and fond of trees like most Fae are. In particular, he was fond of rowan trees, or ryabina trees as they were called there. He was said to always be searching for a certain rowan tree. I don't know why.

"Anyway, he eventually and quite frequently went by Ryabina as his name and then surname. My father followed suit, and when he came to Ireland looking for a Celtic woman to breed with, he took the Gaelic version of the name, Rowan, to better fit in. It worked, too. My family has a lot of old folklore and tales concerning the rowan tree. I hated my father, but I guess I figured there was no denying that I am born of his blood. At least no denying it to myself. So I decided to use the name."

"It is a beautiful name," Legolas offered with a soothing smile. "We have not many rowan trees in Mirkwood, but I saw many in the lands of Rohan."

It seemed strange to be married now and still having these getting-to-know-you talks, but I also realized it could take us years to truly know everything about each other, and the prospect seemed more than appealing to me. At least we wouldn't get bored and run out of things to talk about.

"What about you?" I asked as we started down the hall again. "I know your name translates to green leaf, but why did your parents choose it?"

He smiled, seeming as pleased with our simple chatter as I was. "My mother, too, was quite fond of trees, even for a wood elf, and on the day I was born, cool spring temperatures turned suddenly warm and the trees all seemed to blossom and bloom at once. Yet my lady mother was unable to witness their greening for her labor with me. And though she lamented not bearing witness to the trees, she said she had been given a greater gift; one she would not trade even for sight of a single leaf greening." His cheeks colored slightly as he spoke, seeming modest about telling the story as he continued, "My father called me Alassiel's Little Green Leaf at the first, and then finally named me Legolas."

"It's a wonderful story," I said, my thoughts lingering on his mother. Legolas had told me she'd sailed to the undying lands, but he hadn't talked much else about her or why she'd left and I hadn't pressed. This was the first time I'd even heard her name. "Do you miss her?"

He nodded. "Yes, but not as much as when she first sailed. It took time to adjust to her absence in my father's halls, and his growing somberness. Yet it is not as it would be for mortals, the ache in my heart has lessened, for I know I shall see her again in Valinor."

"Why did she sail?"

"She loved our forest, but as the influence of Dol Guldur increased and the Great Greenwood darkened, so did my mother's light and laughter. In the end, she could not abide the darkness of our forest and decided to await my father and me in the Undying Lands." He sighed and I could see the unmasked longing in his expression though he had tried before to hide it. "My father's halls were never the same after her departure. My lady mother was always jubilant and laughing, and my father was once, too. But he became solemn and staid after she sailed. And his halls seemed almost silent."

"She sounds like a lovely elleth."

He pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my temple as we walked, his arm curling once more around my waist. "I wish she could have stayed to meet you before she sailed."

I didn't respond. No matter what I hoped for or tried to have Faith in, we couldn't know for certain what the future would bring.

I'd wrapped my left arm around Legolas's waist as we walked, and his left hand trailed down to mine on his hip as he seemed lost in thought.

"You told me once that people in your world placed permanent inking upon their skin," he suddenly commented, "and I have seen that which you spoke of upon your own arm, but what is its purpose? What does it mean?"

I pulled my left arm back in front of us and touched below my shoulder where my Marine sniper tat was. "Well, like I told you, civilians get them for all sorts of reasons, but in the military, you normally get them to denote your branch of military and any special ranking. Mine is the Marine eagle, globe, and anchor with a riflescope crosshairs to show I was a sniper. Below it is the Latin inscription 'Semper Fi' which means 'Always Faithful.' For Marines anyway, tattoos are a matter of pride, honor, and accomplishment."

I'd always been proud of my own, and regretted that it was so distorted now. The North Koreans had taken great relish in cutting and slicing away at it. And though I'd had it touched up after I'd escaped, scar tissue was so very difficult to tattoo. But the tat was still a matter of pride to me, just as it would be for any Marine.

"I do not understand the desire to permanently place ink upon your flesh, but I can hear the pride in your voice and feel it in your heart, so I must accept it. Strange though it seems to an elf to permanently alter your body thus."

I shrugged. "The difference in both our race and our worlds I expect." I really wasn't surprised, he'd seemed genuinely baffled those months before when I had mentioned something about tattoos and then I'd felt the same last night as his fingers had traced my own tattoo.

"It is said the men of the East bear such markings as well," he commented.

"Those I would guess are like some cultures in my world. Tattoos to mark the passage into manhood or other accomplishments." I shook my head. "I never understood people in my own world that covered their bodies in tats. I have pride in mine, sure, but I can't say I was tempted to get a bunch more."

I glanced up at the blonde braids at Legolas's temple and gently tugged one. "You said braids denoted position and having warrior braids was a point of honor. Tattoos are no different I guess, just that your markings of honor aren't permanent like mine."

He looked thoughtful and conceded, "Perhaps."

We continued to walk in companionable silence, but curiosity soon got the best of me. "_Soooo?_" I drug out. "I'm curious. Do you still hear my thoughts, or do you hear anyone else's?" I couldn't help but wondering if it was only my thoughts he was hearing because of the mating or bond, or if he was hearing others, too.

He nodded his head. "I confess I hear a frantic murmuring of many voices. As though I were standing in a crowded room with everyone speaking at once into my ear and I cannot make out any one voice. Yet it is not truly in my ear. It is a heavy weight ... pressing down on my mind, I suppose." He shook his head as though to clear the voices away. "It truly is quite distracting."

I shook my head as I smiled guiltily, though I was surprised by how easily he was able to still function. It was probably somehow due to his elvish nature, though it helped that there weren't quite so many minds present in the Citadel at the moment.

In my youth, when I was overwhelmed by too many minds, I was hardly able to even place one foot in front of the other. "Yeah, it's more of a pain than people realize," I explained. "Sorry about that. But tell me, you said elves can sense the hearts and sometimes emotions of others, right?" He nodded his head. "Well, is that something you purposely do to read someone, or do you have to shut it off so you're not doing it all the time?"

He carefully considered my words. "It is a skill that comes to an elf as they come of age, but I suppose, yes, it is a skill which a young elf must learn to harness and 'shut off' as you say so as not to be overwhelmed by the constant emotions of others."

"Good!" I smiled. "Then this might not be so hard for you to learn. I would think the principle should be similar. Focus on your own thoughts and imagine a wall between your mind and everything pressing on it from the outside. Then just steadily build that wall and push it outward until your own thoughts are all you hear."

We paused in an empty alcove jutting off a hallway, sitting on a plush bench while practicing building Legolas's barriers. It took time and encouraging words, but he was able to grasp it much quicker than I would have imagined, perhaps only a half-hour of time passing.

He gave an audible sigh of relief when his mind was again his own, and I smiled in sympathy, though jealous of how quickly he'd seemed to master it. It had taken years of my childhood to really figure it out.

"Is this how you kept me from hearing your own thoughts?" he asked in a curious tone.

"Yeah, it seems to keep others from hearing me as well as me from having to hear everyone else around me."

"Yet you do listen to me and others?"

The guilt set in again. "Yeah but I can't understand your thoughts like you apparently can now hear mine. And as for others, I used it as a Marine and as a cop when it was useful. I didn't do it all the time. And so often, it was more distracting than useful. I hope you're able to learn how to easily control it so you're not overwhelmed with all the random thoughts."

He smiled and kissed my temple as he pulled me closer into his side and the warm embrace of his arms. "I need not know your thoughts to sense your guilt through our bond. You need not feel guilty. Perhaps this shall allow me to better understand the struggles you have had to long endure through your 'gift.'"

"I'd rather you didn't have to learn this way or even at all."

"Regardless," he argued, "I would not trade our binding for anything. We shall learn to manage these new turns, and I am ever thankful to feel your fëa within me. It is a comfort I would not willingly part with."

Now that my own barriers were in place and the outside minds weren't distracting me, I realized I could feel Legolas more strongly, too. And just as Legolas had said, it was somehow comforting to me to know he was always there.

* * *

As we left the Citadel, Legolas paused and turned to me, silently asking with a raised brow where I wanted to go.

"Aragorn will be down on the field in the tents, but let's stop by the Houses of Healing first, if you don't mind. I'd like to see the hobbits before we head down to the field and also see a few others in the Houses while I'm there."

Legolas nodded and followed my lead, holding fast to my hand even though I'd tried to put a little distance between us.

I glanced at the men and soldiers openly staring at us on the street, and Legolas followed my gaze but only squeezed my hand as he ignored them and said instead, "I should like to see Meriadoc and Peregrin again as well."

My gaze lingered on the curious stares once more, but I turned away, deciding if Legolas still didn't care about such things, I wouldn't worry about them for him. I'd been used to strange stares from childhood so they didn't bother me now. But I couldn't get used to the fact that they didn't seem to bother Legolas either. I was used to enduring the stares alone, not with someone else.

As we neared the Houses, we could hear Gimli's booming voice inquiring to see the hobbits himself. And as we closed in on him and the young boy he'd been questioning, I opened my senses up and searched for the familiar thoughts and language from our hobbit companions' minds. There were many pained minds pressing on me from the wounded soldiers, but luckily, the hobbits were nearby.

"I think they're over that way, Gimli, in the gardens," I told the dwarf, pointing towards the stone pathways and the heavy scent of blooming flowers.

The dwarf spun around and took two giant strides towards me, surprising us both I think as he wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug.

Seeming to catch himself, he blushed and started to step back, saying, "Lassie—"

But I stopped him and wrapped him in my own hug, letting Legolas's hand fall away as I did so. "I'm so glad to see you're all right, Gimli."

The dwarf cleared his throat and stepped back, his ruddy cheeks bright beneath the wiry hair of his beard. "Right as rain, Lassie. Right as rain. Though glad to see ye are well, too. The elf worried nearly incessantly for ya as we sailed up the river. Rather poor company he was. It's good to see the lad smile so again."

As Gimli spoke, Legolas stepped beside me once more and slipped an arm around my waist, drawing me into the now familiar space at his side.

Gimli's eyes narrowed on us as he said, "Something seems different about ya both."

I decided to feign ignorance, saying innocently, "I don't know what you mean."

Legolas glanced down at me, a laughing disapproval in his eyes. Turning back to Gimli he proudly proclaimed, "May I introduce to you my wife, Elaina Rowan."

I chuckled at the strange formality of it, and then at Gimli's gaping mouth.

"Ye two sure wasted na time," the dwarf said.

With a laugh I naughtily fired back, "Well, it's the first time we've had access to an enclosed room and a bed since we declared our intentions."

Gimli's surprise came out in a choked breath, and even Legolas gaped down at me.

I shrugged, wondering what either would decide to say in return.

Legolas recovered first. "Had I but known a bed and room were the only requirements, I might have inquired for such amenities in Rohan."

I laughed to see him so easily return my teasing, and Gimli soon joined me in deep guffaws, saying through his belly laughs, "King Thranduil shall find his new daughter more spirited than his palace halls are accustomed to!"

The elf and dwarf continued to laugh at this, but it immediately sobered me. "Damn," I whispered, "I forgot I'll have at least one in-law to meet, and a king no less!"

Legolas kissed my temple again and laughed, "Father shall find you charming."

"Crass and uncouth you mean. And probably a bad influence," I muttered.

Legolas only gave an unperturbed chuckle in return.

I glanced at the young boy who had stepped discreetly away but still stood openly staring at our odd trio. "Thank you," I nodded to him. "We can find our friends from here."

The boy turned and scurried away without another word, and we continued into the garden, soon following the familiar voices of the hobbits' chatter.

Legolas kept his arms around my waist as we walked, leaning down to whisper assurances against my temple, "My lord father shall see what I love in you and come to love you as well."

I let out a harrumph, far from convinced by his words. "Sure he will. But I've never met an in-law before," I complained. "My first husband was an only child and his parents had died before we met. I never realized how lucky I'd gotten," I grumbled.

"All will be well. You shall see," he chuckled as we entered a small clearing in the garden lined with white stone benches.

The hobbits were sitting on one of the stone benches in front of rows of fragrant old-fashioned rose bushes, chattering to each other quietly when we entered, but they looked up when they heard Gimli's booming voice.

"There you two young rascals are!"

I stayed back as the two hobbits fondly embraced the elf and dwarf, but soon they turned to me and rushed forward, wrapping their arms around my waist. Kneeling in front of them, I returned the gesture wholeheartedly and wrapped them in my own arms, careful of Merry and his bandaged arm.

"I'm glad you're here with us and well," Merry laughed.

Pippin pulled back and pushed lightly at Merry, also being careful of his bandages. "I told you she was here in the City and just fine, Merry," Pippin admonished.

"But you said you hadn't seen Lane since the battle started!" Merry rounded.

"True enough," Pippin conceded and turned to me. "Where have you been? I'll admit I _was _getting a might worried about you. And I knew Legolas would be worried if something happened to you."

"I was with the other soldiers of Gondor fighting through the night and day," I vaguely explained. "But enough of that. The battle is won and I'm as well as you are, Pip, though we're both a sight better than poor Merry here."

Merry blushed at the attention and shrugged it away, his eyes already losing some of the heavy weight in them. "Oh, it's just my arm. And Strider says it'll be fine in no time. It's Lady Éowyn I'm worried about. And poor King Théoden. He was a grand king," he said, sadness returning to his eyes.

"That he was," I agreed. "But he fell honorably and will be remembered for ages. He'll go to his ancestors with his head held high. And Éowyn too will soon mend and find happiness she never imagined. Time does eventually heal all wounds. But love helps," I added with a quick wink up at Legolas.

Pippin's head tilted as he looked at me where I still knelt before the hobbits. "I guess those are true enough words, but you seem different. You weren't this happy the last time I saw you." He glanced over his shoulder at Legolas and grinned, proving he was no less observant than Gimli. "Oh, but I guess that explains it. I know you worried about mister Legolas just as much as he worries about you."

I shook my head as I chuckled. "I suppose that's true enough. But husbands and wives are wont to worry about each other like that when they're parted."

The hobbits' eyes grew large. "Husband and wife?" Pippin whispered.

But Merry suddenly laughed and clapped Pippin on the shoulder. "What he means is, congratulations. But no wedding celebration at least? We thought you'd intended to wait a bit, but I guess not. It doesn't seem right though not to at least have some sort of feast."

Legolas stepped closer and placed a hand on Merry's shoulder. "It is certain there shall be feasting to come in the future. My lord father shall wish at the very least to have a feast to mark the event, and of course, our feast would not be complete without hobbits to join the festivities."

We all sat on benches then near where the hobbits had been sitting, and soon conversation turned from the food and drink of the best feasts to telling each other the tales of battle and the different paths each of us had followed to come to it.

I stayed mostly silent, watching and listening, and letting Pippin eagerly tell our own part in how we'd come to Gondor and then listening to what he'd been up to while I'd been wandering the city with Nethiel.

My eyes turned to Legolas, who had fallen silent as well. He gaze was turned towards the sun, but fastened instead on the sky and the birds circling there.

"Look!" he suddenly cried. "Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm."

My heart ached at his words and the desperate longing I felt within him. Gimli spoke to Legolas, but my ears tuned out the words as my face tilted down and my eyes closed. There was such utter longing in Legolas's heart to cross the Sea that I wondered how we would ever be able to overcome it. How we could ever find any semblance of happiness when his elvish nature demanded he return to the lands of the elves. How would we ever have happiness if he could not find peace here?

Legolas's hands suddenly grasped the sides of my face, turning it up to face him as his thumbs stroked my cheeks, wiping the wetness of a fallen tear away. I opened my eyes to see his torn expression.

"Ai!" he desperately exclaimed. "Feel not such pain in your heart, Elaina love. My words were spoken without care or thought. The Sea calls to me it is true, but all I must do to quiet the call is find where you dwell within my fëa. _You _shall be my peace. And we _will _have happiness." I realized my barriers must have been lowered and Legolas had obviously heard my inner thoughts and worries.

As he spoke he pressed my palm to his chest, and I let my fingers curl there, clutching at the cloth of his jerkin and tunic. "But what about the sea-longing? I can feel it in you. I know how much you ache to follow that call."

He slid his hand over mine, pressing it harder against his chest. "My fëa is bound to yours, which is much stronger than the sea-longing. The sea-longing waxes and wanes, and as time passes, it shall wane and not so tug at me, yet my love shall never wane. It shall only wax and grow with time. Some day I shall cross the Sea, but not for many long years, not until your mortal years are utterly spent." My barriers were still down so I clearly heard his mind distinctly push his thoughts to me, _And every day I shall pray to the Valar that you are permitted into Valinor so that I am never parted from you, not even by the Sea._

Legolas pulled me closer and pressed my head to his shoulder as Merry began speaking, trying to lighten the mood and turn the conversation from dire topics. But my mind was still lost in thought.

I wondered if Legolas was right and if we'd be able to surmount his longing for the Sea. But as I thought it, I glanced up at the sun and sky.

_Is his sea-longing really so different from a fairy's affinity for the sky, water, earth, or fire? Whatever kind of Fae they are, they have an affinity and need for that element. Even I have a longing for the sky, and though it had only adversely affected me in my captivity, I still long for some daily contact with the sun, still need to gaze at the sky and stars. Is mine so different from his? I have been able to see the sun, sky, and stars daily and nightly ever since I escaped my prison, but Legolas has only just had a small encounter with the gulls of the sea. Perhaps it will fade in time and not so strongly hold him. It will always be there, just as mine is, but maybe it won't be so terrifying a problem as I initially feared. _

"It is merely an understanding that the time of the elves in Middle-earth must end and we must return to our true home in Valinor," Legolas whispered near my ear, still catching my thoughts. "It shall indeed fade in time. I have heard other elves speak so of the Longing."

I nodded absently against his shoulder, somehow not at all upset by him listening to my thoughts this time. Perhaps because my thoughts had been troubled and I had wanted him to ease them.

Still, I carefully raised my barriers once more. I wasn't used to sharing my thoughts with another. Hypocritical though it might be to shut him out of my thoughts given how many people's thoughts I'd listened to. But I rarely understood any of Legolas's thoughts, and so it seemed strange for _him _to so suddenly read my own thoughts so well.

"We'll take it one day at a time," I whispered back to him.

Who the hell said marriage was gonna be easy?

* * *

After we were through sitting in the garden and talking with the hobbits, Gimli and Legolas decided to head back to the field to speak with Aragorn and his captains.

But I headed the other direction, wanting to go up to the Houses of Healing to see Faramir and Éowyn at least.

The halls were teeming with activity, wounded soldiers lining rooms and nearly every inch of hallway it seemed, healers wandering about throughout them to treat the wounded. I instantly felt guilty. I'd spent the night in Legolas's arms and sleeping comfortably, when I could have made myself useful here. I didn't know the herbs and medicines, true, but I could stitch simple and some complex wounds as well as any.

Yet it seemed at this hour I was no longer needed. Exhausted looking healers had moved on to the lesser, more superficial wounds, and seemed to have things well in hand, despite their exhaustion.

A sleeping figure caught my eye as I passed by a room with the door ajar. It was Faramir, sleeping peacefully. His bandaged shoulder was just visible under the blankets. I knew Aragorn would have already been through during the night to heal him, but wondered if anyone had yet told the man that his father had passed. I prayed not, such grief I knew he would not yet be ready for.

I turned and stepped back into the hallway, colliding with an old woman busily bustling by.

"Excuse me, sir," she started to say, then gasped and pressed her hand to her breast. "Bless me! You are a woman! Two women warriors within our halls! Never did I think I would see such a day."

I ignored her bluster. "Then you know where the Lady Éowyn is. Would you tell me?"

But she continued to bluster. "Why, never in my day did women so disguise themselves and fight alongside the men."

Deciding to go out on a limb, I guessed, "Ioreth?"

She stepped back. "Why yes! How did you know me?"

"Lucky guess. Where's Lady Éowyn?"

This time she was finally struck speechless and merely pointed down the hall to the door just down from Faramir's.

"Thank you," I told the mute woman, and stepped up to Éowyn's room.

As I eased the door open, I expected to find her asleep in her bed just as Faramir had been. But she turned her head and cast listless eyes on me.

"Still bitten by the frost, I see," I murmured to myself. But seeing that Éowyn was awake, I let myself into the room and crossed to her bed.

"You knew," she whispered, as I pulled up the wooden chair to her bedside. Her arms were both bandaged and lying on top of the blankets. I could see that her shield-arm had been broken and wrapped in thick casting.

"Hmmm?" I raised my brow in feigned ignorance.

But her eyes narrowed on me. "You knew after I went to Dunharrow that I would ride with the men in disguise. And you knew that Théoden would fall."

I didn't bother denying the accusation. "Yes. I knew."

"And you did nothing!" she cried, her voice rising to a hoarse rasp. "You looked me in the eye, saw Théoden King lying on the field, and you turned away!"

"Yes."

She balled the fist of her wounded sword-arm and pressed it to her chest, heedless of the bandaging wrapped tightly around it. "Coward," she breathed, though the whispered condemnation struck me harder than if she'd shouted it.

My eyes closed as I leaned back against the wooden slats of the chair. "Perhaps I was," I whispered. "But the task was not mine. It was yours to slay the Witch-king. And as for Théoden, I grieve his passing, but he had been dealt his fatal wound before I arrived. He goes now to his ancestors, and it is for those of us left behind to finish this dark struggle in the hopes of better days. If we yet live through the coming struggles that is."

Tears welled in her eyes and I realized the youth and immaturity I'd marked before were gone from her eyes. Where before I'd wondered if she could even barely be into womanhood, I now saw the culmination of all her weighty years and grief colliding at this moment. Indeed, by her eyes alone she seemed aged beyond her mortal years.

"You could have warned him of what was to come. You could have told _me,_" she whispered in choked tones.

I stood, longing to wipe away the weighty lines of grief and sorrow from her brow, but knowing she wouldn't welcome my touch now. Only time could heal her hurts. And it was only small comfort to know that Faramir would help ease her hurts and sorrow.

"I could have," I agreed. "And perhaps that, too, you would call cowardice that I did not divulge such things, but it was truly for the best. No one would want to carry the knowledge of such grievous and wretched fates in their hearts. The time of Théoden's reign had come to an end. It is time for the young kings and captains of these armies to make the final stand and mark the beginnings of their own reigns. I know that's no comfort to you, but your uncle is amongst his ancestors and you, too, shall heal."

"Théoden King raised me from young when my mother and father passed," Éowyn bitterly told. "Now he, too, has been taken from me. Speak not of the time of his reign ending! _I _still needed him. Everything has been taken from me. You could have told what was to happen, but cowardice stilled your tongue. I could have saved him had I known. Or _you _could have helped, but you cowardly turned away."

I stepped to the door and paused in the opening, looking back over my shoulder. "Like I said. Maybe it was cowardice. I can only say that I know my own limitations, and I'd have been no help to you against the foe you faced. Call it cowardice if you want, but a Marine—a soldier—knows to size up a situation and go to where they'll be the most use. And I was of more use elsewhere."

I started to walk out, but stopped again and turned back to Éowyn. Her head had turned away from me as she stared at the wall and angrily jabbed at tears with her bandaged arm.

"You say you've lost everything, Éowyn, but you still have your beloved brother. And think on this in the days and weeks to come: Would you trade the happiness and joy you'll soon know, for the memory of happiness you once shared with Théoden? And what would he think of that? Would he let you turn from your future joy to grasp at the old familiar comfort of past happiness?"

Without waiting for an answer, I turned and left her room, swiping at the moisture that had gathered in my own eyes.

As I turned into the hallway from Éowyn's room, I once more ran into someone.

"Dammit," I growled to myself as I stepped back. And was surprised when I looked up into Halbarad's gray eyes.

"My lady!" he squeaked in surprise. "Are you all right?"

I forced a smile and nodded. "Peachy." Seeing his confusion, I tried again. "I'm just fine."

He looked doubtful and glanced at the closed door behind me, so I changed the subject before he could press me.

"So, what are you doing up here? I thought you'd be down on the field with Aragorn and the others."

"In truth, I am headed there now," he explained, and fell in step beside me. "But I had wished to visit some of our brethren who are being tended here."

I nodded and we continued in silence. Halbarad was a tall man, his stride easily longer than my own, but he easily and comfortably shortened it to keep pace with me. But he continued casting sideways glances at me as we walked, and I was just debating asking him what he wanted when he finally broke his silence.

"Why did you save my life on the field?"

The question startled me. "Why not?" I asked, the two words coming out a little more belligerently than I intended. _Is everyone going to question my motives this morning?_

"I do not mean offense by my query," he hastened to explain, "But I cannot fathom why you risked your life for mine. You had only just met me."

His stare as we continued walking began to unnerve me. Did he think I had some kind of interest in him after Aragorn's teasing words?

"You are Aragorn's closest kin, and I could tell by the way he spoke of you that he cares very deeply for your friendship. And Aragorn has become a dear friend to me. How could I tell him someone so dear to him had been lost?" _Again, _my guilty mind added. And I realized in some small way, what I'd done _had _been about atoning for the sin of keeping Gandalf's fall to myself. I truly hadn't been able to stomach the idea of telling Aragorn that someone else dear to him had died, and that I'd known about it.

"Oh," Halbarad muttered, and I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes.

I cursed silently to myself as I let my mind feel his swirling emotions and confirmed the disappointment laced throughout. With a calming breath, I tried to explain a few things to the Ranger.

"Look, you seem like a very nice man, well worth the effort of saving for no other reason than that, but that _is _why I acted as I did." Seeing the disappointment still there in his eyes, I stopped and placed a hand on his arm. "You don't even know me; you know nothing about me. I can see you were hoping for something more, but that's all there is."

I let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm flattered that you could even consider wanting more from me, but I'm a stranger to you."

"I know you are kind and brave. And that you are beautiful."

The snort escaped before I could stop it. "You forget, I've seen myself in the mirror. I might be fair, maybe even pretty to some when I put an effort into it—which I assure you is a rare thing—but I'm not beautiful. I'm not fishing for compliments here; I'm just stating the facts. Truthfully, it's never really bothered me. I learned a long time ago to accept my limitations." And I'd worked at accentuating my plainer features as a Marine and cop. Beauty queens just didn't have a place in either profession, nor did such beauty serve any advantage. Just the opposite, it was a disadvantage when the men didn't take you seriously because of it.

He started to argue, but I cut him off.

"Like I said, I'm not fishing for compliments here or trying to start an argument, just saying that any attraction can't be based on my looks alone."

"But you saved my life," he insisted.

"Ahh, there it is. I saved your life. It's kind of a reverse Florence Nightingale effect I suppose, or transference." I stopped and tried to clarify my words to him. "You think there's something there because I saved your life. But it's not real. And it will fade. It's just gratefulness you're really feeling."

We continued in silence. I was glad to see that Halbarad seemed to be giving my words due consideration as we stepped out of the Houses of Healing onto the street.

"My lady! Lane!" a voice called, and I looked up to see Nethiel had been coming up a side street towards the Houses.

"Nethiel," I fondly greeted the girl. "Were you heading in to help the healers?"

"Yes!" she said excitedly, "My mother-brother is a healer and he says he will begin teaching me and perhaps train me to be an herb-mistress."

I laughed at her bright enthusiasm. "Well good for you. I can tell you're excited."

"Oh yes! It has been long hours running and fetching for the healers, but I am so thankful for the opportunity."

She finally seemed to notice then that I wasn't walking alone and glanced up at Halbarad before her eyes dipped down and a pretty blush crawled up her cheeks. I glanced at the Ranger to see what caused her blush and grinned when I saw Halbarad's speculative gaze of the young girl.

I glanced back at Nethiel and corrected myself. She was a woman in this time and place.

Deciding to stir the pot, I introduced them. "Nethiel, this is Halbarad, a Dúnadan Ranger from the North and a very honorable man." I turned to the Ranger as Nethiel's blush deepened. "And Halbarad, this is Nethiel; she has been helping me out and guiding me in this large city. She's a friend and an aspiring healer." I just couldn't bring myself to call her my lady's maid.

The Ranger pressed his fist to his breast and bowed to her. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady," he gallantly proclaimed.

Nethiel's blush deepened even more until I was afraid her cheeks might combust. But she curtsied gracefully and whispered in a slightly shaking voice, "And I am pleased to meet you, sir."

She turned and glanced up at me before her eyes darted back to the ground. "Is there anything I can do for you and your lord husband?" she whispered.

"No, Nethiel, we'll look after our own needs. You focus on your learning."

She curtsied again with a soft, "Good day," and hurried off.

I chuckled as I watched Halbarad track her progress with his eyes, smiling at how quickly he seemed to lose his silly interest in me.

Turning, I started back down through the levels of the city. Halbarad quickly fell in step with me once more, his face still pinched thoughtfully.

"She's a pretty young woman," I casually threw out.

"Yes, she is," Halbarad distractedly agreed, and then he seemed to realize whom he was with as a blush blossomed on his own cheeks, though his dark scruffy beard mostly covered it.

"She's never mentioned any young man in her life," I teased. "And she seems to me to be a brave, adventurous young woman."

The blush brightened, but Halbarad did glance back over his shoulder. "Perhaps," he said in a quiet and thoughtful voice.

I glanced back as well and saw Nethiel trying to watch unobtrusively from the doorway of the Houses of Healing.

"Perhaps indeed," I agreed.

* * *

We were walking through the gates onto the field when Halbarad suddenly stopped dead still.

Turning back, I looked at him to see what the problem was.

"You are married?" he gasped in a strangled voice.

Powerless to stop myself, I doubled over in laughter, clutching at my stomach.

Through my deep, belly rolling laughter and tears I said, "I guess I don't need to ask if you were interested in Nethiel if you're just now realizing she mentioned my husband. I guess I also don't need to ask if you've been thinking about her; you've obviously been replaying the encounter in your mind."

Though I continued to laugh, I turned and continued onto the field. Halbarad I could feel wanted to ask questions, but his cherry red expression seemed to halt the questions in his throat as my laughter continued.

When we'd finally made our way down to the field—and my laughter had abated—it took a while to find where everyone was meeting. I figured it would be in the largest tent, but I hadn't thought to look when I still had the vantage from the city. I could have asked Halbarad, but he seemed lost in thought as he wandered in step beside me, paying no heed to where we were.

Out on the field, men still labored vigorously to remove the littered bodies from both sides of the fight, thick ropes with scores of men tugging even the mûmakil bodies away from the field. Inside the city had been much the same, men carting away load after load of rubble and scrubbing at the black Orc blood as well as the rust colored stains from buildings, walls, and streets. But I could see by the steadfast resolve of the Gondorians, that they would not stop until their city had been righted.

As I wandered throughout the tents—and ignored the curious and speculative stares of soldiers and Rangers—it finally struck me to look for Legolas in another manner. I didn't want to open my mind up to search for his thoughts and risk hearing too many thoughts, so instead, I reached inside myself to the place where he now dwelt and latched on. As I examined the swirling emotions and overriding contentment, I realized I could follow the strand of emotions in a specific direction.

And as I followed that strand, I finally found myself standing outside a grand tent of finely woven material much larger than the others. Plenty large enough to hold a meeting between the captains and lords.

"Bingo," I whispered to myself as I heard Aragorn's voice from inside the tent.

"What of Lane?" Aragorn's voice asked from within.

"Why, of course the Lass will join us. Can ye imagine her faltering an' not choosing to ride out with us?" Gimli declared in his usual booming voice. I was continually amazed by the volume the dwarf was able to project, but smiled at how he hit the nail squarely on the head.

I was about to step into the tent, Halbarad following on my heel, when I heard Legolas coolly refute Gimli's words.

"Her bravery is not in doubt, Gimli, but Elaina shall remain here in the city when we depart."

My skin tingled and burned with my flash of anger even as Gimli loudly guffawed at the elf's words. As I stepped through the tent flap, I threw it to the side with a loud thwack, Halbarad following cautiously behind me. _Smart man, _I darkly thought. The sound of the tent flap was immensely less satisfying than the slam of a door would have been, but there was no door available to take my anger out on.

"Oh, Elaina might be staying in the city," I growled, "but Lane sure as hell isn't. She's a Marine—a soldier—and when the others ride out, she damn well will, too."

The males had all been gathered around a long table, bent over it with their backs to me, and all save for Legolas had jumped at my loud entrance. I assumed Legolas must have heard or felt my presence since he didn't act startled.

Almost as one, the males all turned to face me, a sight I might have found humorous under better circumstances. But Legolas hadn't turned with the others. Instead, he braced his hands upon the dark wood of the table and lowered his upper body onto his hands and arms.

"Please be reasonable, Elaina. Do not fight me on what is best for you," Legolas quietly said to the tabletop.

"Back at ya," I ground out, not moving any closer. "You think you have the right to make decisions for me just because we're married now, well think again. _No one _makes decisions for me. And what? You think you can just decide something for me and then _announce_ _it_ in front of others without even _talking_ to me about it?"

I took the time to mark the surprised look on Aragorn's face, along with the utter shock on the faces of the sons of Elrond, as well as the other gathered lords and captains of men, but then I turned and swept out of the tent, Halbarad jumping hurriedly out of my way. I was afraid if I stayed any longer that I would say something I would later regret.

"Elaina!" Legolas called after me.

I kept walking. "Elaina's your wife! And right now she's pissed as hell with you, too, so she doesn't want to talk to you any more than Lane does!"

* * *

**A/N: **Hmm... somehow a chapter I didn't anticipate being very long grew to a chapter of over 8,000 words. How did that happen? Oh well.

Anyway, I must confess I've been a bad bad author. I totally forgot that the elves of Mirkwood originally spoke Silvan and then learned Sindarin later, continuing to speak both languages throughout the third age at least. I _did _know that one, but it completely slipped my mind when I started writing this story and was trying to decide what to name the language that the fairies of Lane's family spoke. I searched some and decided to use a language that's been used for Fae in other stories and legends: Sylvan.

Which I think is just too close and confusing. One letter different and no different sound in the word just didn't seem right to use, but I also didn't want to completely change what I've gone with. So I've instead decided to change the language of Lane's relatives to Silva. It's still close, but hopefully different enough from the elves' Silvan. Silva was the base word both Silvan and Sylvan came from. It comes from Latin meaning: forest, woods.

But I do want the names of the two languages—and indeed the languages themselves—to be somewhat similar and yet different from each other.

So I've gone back through the chapters and changed all the Sylvans to Silva (at least I think I've gotten them all) but I've also added one short piece to chapter 7 where Lane and Legolas talk about the similarities of the two languages. It's not long, and I won't make you go back and read that chapter to find it. So instead:

**New Excerpt from Chapter 7: **

"Your father's people speak a language called Silva?" At my nod he continued, "It seems achingly similar to the language we speak in Mirkwood, yet I cannot quite catch the words with my ear."

"It doesn't sound like Sindarin to me," I told him, trying to remember the few Sindarin words I knew.

"Nay, not Sindarin, but Silvan. My people long spoke Silvan before we learned Sindarin to communicate with other elves, but we still use Silvan much at home, especially in ceremony."

"And it sounds like Silva?"

"Similar, but not the same." He paused and then said something, presumably in Silvan.

I popped up on my elbow and looked down at him. "You're right. My brain feels like it should almost know that, but I can't quite catch it. What did you say?"

"I love you."

With a grin, I lowered myself back to the bed, pushing the matter away for the moment. There would be time to dwell on the eerie similarities later.

See, not very long. But there you have it.

And a huge thank you to Scheerasade for pointing out my dumb Silvan/Sylvan mishap! *headslap* I can't believe I didn't remember that when I was researching fairies! lol!

Thanks so much for reading and as always, let me know what you think of the story or where I can improve. (Like not forgetting what languages Legolas's people speak!)

**P.S.** **A Public Service Announcement for Writers Everywhere**

So, on a completely different note from my story, to any of you other writers out there, I've been doing some reading of a few stories in the past week, one thing really caught my attention in several stories I was reading, and it just bugs me.

I've read several stories now where the writer has one character sitting on a horse (or a motorcycle or bike, etc.) and then another character jumping on in front of the first character. Now, this may be possible on a motorcycle or bike—though most people aren't limber and athletic enough to lift their leg over without tipping the motorcycle/bike over or kicking the person sitting on the back and knocking them off or tipping the whole shebang over—but this simply isn't possible to do with a horse unless we're talking a Shetland pony that a person is just stepping over. And I'm guessing in most stories that's not what we're talking about. For one, two grown people can't ride a Shetland double. ;) Just saying.

Now, if you want to challenge me on this, go right ahead, but as a girl and woman who grew up on top of a horse and on a ranch, rodeoing most all of my life all the way through college and beyond, I can assure you a person cannot get on a horse in front of another person who is already on the horse without kicking the first person in the head or chest or without the use of some serious—and altogether impossible—acrobatics. And before you say it, yes, they did show Legolas swinging onto the front of Arod in front of Gimli in Peter Jackson's version of _The Two Towers_, but again, that was CGI, not actually something that's physically possible. Unless he was trying to kick the dwarf off the horse. ;)

The only way riding double works is for the person riding in front—and normally the person controlling the horse—to get on first and then for the other person to swing up behind them to ride just behind the saddle.

Trust me, this is the _only _way it works from a strictly physical logistics standpoint.

Plus, the person in front needs to be able to control the horse so the other person can swing up behind them.

Okay, I'll get off my soapbox now. It just really distracted and turned me off when I read this type of scenario in several stories. It seemed like there were three or four stories in a row that I started reading that all employed this same highly impossible maneuver, and I just wanted to point this out to writers. If you've done this in a story, you might want to think about changing it, and if you haven't done it, then please don't! :)

***~*~*~* **_**This message was brought to you by horsemen and women everywhere. **_***~*~*~***


	10. Battle Called Love

**Chapter 10: Battle Called Love**

I continued walking away even when I heard Legolas exit the tent behind me.

"Elaina!" he called, his voice bordering too dangerously close to command for my taste.

My feet didn't falter as I held my hand up in the air in a one-finger gesture over my shoulder. I knew he wouldn't understand the gesture, and part of me realized it was probably a childish action, but that righteous anger now burning never knew any difference or any better.

A hand descended on my shoulder to pull me to a stop, but I shrugged out from under the weight of it and spun a quarter of a turn, shoving Legolas's hand away from my body.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, pointing a finger accusingly at him.

When I started to walk away again, Legolas once more reached out to stop me.

But I'd regressed to my behavior from the days after I'd crawled out of North Korea. My need for controlling my life and all aspects of it had swelled disproportionally. And I didn't want anyone grabbing me to take that control back away from me.

As Legolas once more grabbed for my arm, I automatically pivoted again, blocking his hand with one upheld forearm and sailing my other fist at his head. He jerked back, but my knuckles still glanced off his turned jawline.

I stepped back, partially caught up in my anger, but also half horrified that I'd actually struck Legolas.

But moving like lightening, he stepped closer again, effectively blocking and deflecting the arm I'd thrown up trying to block him once more. And before I could react further, he pulled my body close to his, one hand splayed at my back as the other grasped my neck, tilting my head back as my arms got caught between our bodies.

I had just enough time to gasp before his lips crushed against mine in a bruising assault. Our touches and embraces to this point had always been soft and tender. But there was nothing soft or tender here. Just violence tempered with an underlying sense of desperation.

And it reached something inside of me that nothing else would have in that moment.

I reveled in that violent exchange.

The anger that still ran warm in my veins craved it.

So as I leaned back into him, kissing as punishingly and frantically as he had, I clutched at his chest and took his lower lip between my teeth, biting down until I tasted blood. But I didn't struggle to pull away yet.

Legolas jerked back and stared down at me, not releasing his hold on my back or neck, and seeming heedless to the blood trickling down his lip and onto his chin.

I expected surprise or an anger to match my own in his eyes—I wanted and needed his anger to cement and justify my own or perhaps for him to strike me back—but he only stared down at me with same desperation that had been in his bruising kiss.

"I love you," were the surprising words he said.

But at the words, I again struggled to pull away, needing distance, and when his hold would not yield, I pulled my arms up further between us to push away at his chest.

His only reaction was a movement so swift I barely could track it, and suddenly my wrists were gathered in his hand and pulled tight against his chest. I knew I wasn't physically strong enough to overpower him, but I also knew the only way to struggle out of his grip could seriously hurt him.

"I love you," he repeated, almost seeming more desperate than before, and lowered his head to press another kiss to my lips, but I jerked my head to the side, his lips landing on my cheek instead.

"Well I don't like you very much right now," I whispered in a hard graveled voice, my head still turned away.

Legolas made a resigned noise, not seeming surprised by the venom in my voice. "I was acting in the interest of your safety," he offered by way of explanation.

The air was still leaving my lungs in shallow pants. I knew Legolas wouldn't hurt me, but the feeling of my hands being bound and immobilized still hit old triggers.

"Let go of me," I whispered, my voice now coming out in a soft, desperate request.

Legolas heard the catch in my voice and immediately did so; I took three steps back, as my arms almost unconsciously wrapped around my midsection.

Pacing in a small pattern, I looked back at Legolas and demanded, "How could you think I'd be okay with you just deciding something like that and not even discussing it with me? Do you think I'm a soldier serving under your command and you can just give me orders to follow? Or perhaps that I'm your subject, _my prince!_" Anger still boiled and raged within me, whistling like a pressure cooker as it demanded release. Yearning to surge forth like it had in my darkest and most volatile days after I'd escaped North Korea and hadn't been quite sound of mind yet.

That roiling darkness reminded me that maybe I still wasn't quite right. That destruction longed to be unleashed once more, to show everyone I knew the true depth of what I so carefully hid away.

I turned away from Legolas, fighting myself to shove that darkness back down where I thought I'd so carefully hidden and contained it. Struggling for control while the darkness raged for chaos and destruction. I'd fallen to those depths before and it was a sight I never wished to revisit. Nor for Legolas to witness.

"You can't just decide something so huge for me and then expect to just give me orders and have me obey them. I'm your _wife_," I growled, still straining to gain some control of the utter darkness scratching at my throat for control and freedom.

"Of course you are my wife. Yet Aragorn intends to march on the Black Gate itself," Legolas desperately insisted. "Can you fault me for wanting you as far from that place as I can place you?"

"I just don't get it," I said, whipping back to face him. "Why are you suddenly throwing such a fit now about me fighting? I've fought before. You _know _I have. Why are you suddenly trying to forbid me?"

An annoyed look crossed his face and I was almost certain I heard a growl emit from his own throat. "As I have said," he crossly threw back, "we go to march on the Black Gate. Into the very lands of Mordor. Little hope there is for either success or for survival. We go to give others the hope of life and survival. Terror stills my heart at the very notion of you entering those dark lands along with us. Can you find fault with my longing to place you away from such certain demise? Stout-hearted men of these lands quake at the idea of marching into the Black Lands, yet you seem eager to rush headlong into a certain death."

"Whoever said it was certain death?" I yelled back, throwing my arm out to encompass the entire field. "I know many stout men will turn from marching on the Black Gate for fear of it, but whoever said it could only end in death? Of course there's hope, or not even Aragorn nor Gandalf would order such a suicide mission. But regardless, I'm not afraid. Don't order me to stay like I'm too afraid to march into those lands."

This time I was certain of the growl he gave, swinging his fist through the air to slam against his palm to punctuate his words. "Nay! Never have I seen you fear death. Least of all your own. But I fear it more now than ever. For surely I know that it shall strike me down as well. Never before has fear ever held such dominion over me; yet now it rules my heart and mind. All my thoughts now turn to how quickly fate could strike you down and how easily you could fall in the Dark Lands. I want to ensure that you are safe in this city and able to live on even should I fall in those lands."

"What about what _I_ want?" I yelled in return, thumping my chest in emphasis.

Legolas stepped closer as I continued pacing, my movements taking on a frantic, almost nervous, edgy quality as I struggled to stow away the black anger still churning.

"Already you have come too near death and suffered great harm, Elaina. The thought of what might occur within those dark lands strikes terror through my heart. How am I to fight when I am frantic in my worries for you?" he argued, his eyes tracking my pacing.

It suddenly occurred to me that not only were we still on a crowded field with strangers watching as they passed by, but that the males from the tent we had just left were gathered somewhat inconspicuously at the opening of the large structure, obviously watching and listening to our heated argument as well.

"This isn't the time or place to argue," I lowly told Legolas, starting to turn away once more.

He reached out to stop me, but I danced out of his reach, my eyes narrowing dangerously on him.

"I do not wish to leave this issue unresolved to fester," he maintained.

"We're making a scene," I growled, throwing my arm out in gesture at the tent. "They can hear everything we're arguing about."

"Let them!" Legolas yelled, his voice rising in a shout for the first time that I could recall as it echoed on the field. "I care not if any wish to listen. I would have this issue brought to bear between us in any manner. I care more about settling this matter between us than for what they think or what they hear. Why can you not see reason?"

My pacing stopped and I stepped closer to Legolas. "I'm not stupid, Legolas," I spit out. "I get what your reasons are for wanting me to stay. Can you say the same? What about _me_? What about _me_ if I'm forced to stay here? Waiting alone for word of the outcome of the battle. I'm a Marine first and foremost, but I'm a woman, too, Legolas. So I get both sides of this age-old dilemma. You don't want me to go so that you can know that I'm here and safe.

"But did you ever stop to think about how hard it is for the wives who are forced to sit at home waiting for the news that their husband has miraculously survived, or the more terrifying news, that they've been killed? I don't deny that it'll be hard on both of us if we march out together, but can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I said I was going to march out with Aragorn and the others and demanded that _you_ stay here in the City? You've come just as near to death as I have! I thought you were dead once already back there in Rohan."

I sighed and continued, still staring up into his eyes, and willing him to see things from my perspective. "I'm not going to say that it would be better if we both march into Mordor in an impossible to win scenario and die together rather than be forced to live apart. I've never thought the whole dying together thing was in anyway romantic, anyway. Romeo and Juliet were idiots in my opinion." His brows scrunched together, but I waved it away, having grown too used to the confusion stemming from anything pertaining to my world. "Never mind. Anyway, I don't think dying together is some wonderful, romantic notion. I'd a helluva lot rather live together. But chances are, since I'm a mortal, you _are_ going to have to deal with my death one day. Just the way it is. And I _do _want you to go on living and doing everything that makes you happy. Just that same as I'm sure you'd want for me. Even if I'd live ever day with a piece of my heart missing. But dying together isn't something I want or am planning for. We can't live our lives worrying that one or both of us could die or be killed at any moment. That's no way to live. We have to keep believing that there's gonna be a tomorrow. Even if there isn't."

Wetness shone in Legolas's eyes as he continued to stare at me with the same anguish, but beneath it, I finally saw the love that had been shinning there all along, driving that despair, and the burning anger in me suddenly cooled and tempered.

Stepping closer, I reached up and carefully wiped the blood from Legolas's chin and lip with my sleeve, shame now setting in that I'd actually caused that wound and the purplish bruise now forming on his jaw.

"I can't stay here in the city, waiting for word to come back to me that you've lived or died, any more than I could expect you to do the same," I whispered tenderly.

Legolas caught my hand and pressed it to his jaw over the mark forming there. "You are my wife now, it is my duty to protect you," he whispered with fierce insistence.

"I'm not like other women, or ellith, or hell, any females, I guess. It's not the way I'm built, Legolas. Not anymore. What am I supposed to do? Sit here in the city waiting for you while I knit or sew or crochet? Or maybe cook or clean? I don't even know how to do any of those things! I'm a Marine and cop at heart, Legolas. Maybe it's the Fae blood in me, but on a battlefield, or on the streets protecting people, are the only places I've ever felt like I was in the right place and useful. You knew who I was when you bound yourself to me. Of every being I've ever known in my lifetime, you're the only one I don't hide myself from." I thought of the bitter, dark anger that had welled up in me. Anger I thought I'd so well controlled after my torture in North Korea. "You're the only one I can't seem to hide anything of myself from. Even the worst parts of me I wish you never had to know about," I whispered, gently touching my fingertips to the purplish mark on his jaw before my head fell in shame.

Legolas gently tipped my head back up with his fingers, bending down to kiss my lips though I feared to return the kiss and hurt him further than the marks he already bore.

"Such fear grasps at my heart when I think of you so willingly going into those lands. I can master the fear my heart feels for myself at entering those lands, but how do I master the fear I feel for you so freely walking into those evil lands? Death I long mastered the fear of for myself, for elves know what awaits us and that we will pass through Mandos's Halls and be reborn in Valinor. And I could master my fear when you fought in Rohan, and even when I thought of you fighting on this very ground, but such agonizing fear grips me at the thought of you fighting in the battle to come. On Sauron's very own land. You seem not to fear your death in the slightest, but it now rules my heart. How do I master that fear? How did you master your own fear of death? It claws at me for I know not if I shall ever again be reunited with you."

I glanced away as a sigh escaped. "No, I don't fear death anymore," I admitted. "Not for a long time, I guess. But I've lived and suffered through things far worse than death. I've longed for it and begged for it. Would have welcomed it like an old friend. I know firsthand what it's like to be suspended in a fate worse than death. I can't truly say what awaits me in death, but I know it has to be better than what I've suffered through before. So I don't fear it. I _can't_ fear it, not if I tried. I just know somewhere in my heart that after everything I've been through and suffered, I've _earned_ the right to happiness and peace in death."

"Teach me," he suddenly begged, "teach me this surety that beats in your words. Teach me to banish my fear of your death and to embrace your surety that we will again be united, even in death."

"I can't. I don't know how you teach something like that. And I wouldn't want you to gain the resolve that I now feel about death in the way that I did. It has some definite drawbacks." I looked away as I spoke, thinking guiltily of the anger and violence that I now had to keep so carefully hidden beneath the surface of my emotions.

We stood silently for several moments, both lost in our own thoughts. But I was grateful for the opportunity to further temper my anger.

"What if you are with child?" Legolas whispered, but even to my own ears, it sounded like a last-ditch effort.

Still, my cheeks burst with warmth. "I'm not," I assured him. "It's only been one night, but besides, I know I'm not fertile right now," I whispered back.

"It is still early to know for certain, even if you are not yet fertile," he maintained.

I knew he was right, some bit of knowledge clung from somewhere in my mind and memory, reminding me that a man's seed could survive in a woman's body for several days. But I knew children weren't meant to be. At least not for me.

"That's grasping for straws and you know it," I returned, but then my expression turned grim. "Besides, even on the extremely low, off-chance that it could take, the chances of me carrying a child to term now are nearly impossible."

"I do not understand."

I looked purposefully away. "After my time in …" I trailed off and left the rest unsaid before foraging ahead with the remaining pieces, carefully maintaining a flat tone of voice. "After everything that happened, my body is too damaged and scarred to actually have any chance of becoming pregnant, let alone carrying a child to term."

"You cannot carry a child," Legolas slowly repeated.

"I'm sorry," I whispered miserably, feeling somehow like a failure.

Legolas didn't hesitate and grasped my jaw with gentle and carrying fingers as he turned my gaze back to his. "Nay, do not feel this guilt. This was a thing done unto you, not any act of your own doing," he assured me.

"I should have told you sooner."

"It would not have changed my course. My love for you is unchanged. You are more than enough for me."

Silence stretched as our words sank into each other's conscious. I could only pray his words were true and his heart wouldn't change. But when Legolas spoke again, he had moved on to other matters.

Legolas finally broke the resounding silence that seemed to encompass our area on the field, regardless of all the soldiers and men nearby. "I will not lie and say I do not still wish you to remain in the city," he said, "but you are correct, I am unfairly asking of you what I could not myself any more abide. I should not have tried to decide such a thing for you and then declare my will upon you in such a manner. It is a grievous thing to realize I have so tried to order about my wife as though she were a mere soldier serving in my command. Or worse, that you could ever feel I would have so placed or thought of you as being below myself as a mere subject." As he spoke, he gave a sad smile, his fingers still grasping my chin and not letting me look away.

Now unable to turn my head away, I leaned forward to bury my face against Legolas's chest. "I can't believe I hit you like that and then bit you," I whispered miserably. "How could you ever continue to harbor any love for me after what I've done? After what you've seen in me?"

His arms suddenly wrapped tightly around me, crushing me to his chest. "Say not such things," he whispered back, that desperation creeping back in. "I know your heart; I have seen the darkness that dwells there, and I would rather have you unleash that darkness and anger upon me, and fight me, than fight that darkness alone and suffer it in solitude."

I shook my head against his chest. "I wouldn't ever want you to have to see even a shadow of that anger in me. You are so good and kind—even if a bit commanding from time to time—but I can't bear the thought of what that dark part of my soul is doing to you. I was never like this before …" I trailed off, but I knew Legolas instantly understood just when that darkness had taken root within me.

Legolas forced my head to tilt up to face him again. "Think not that elves are such perfect beings. Have I not already proven in so short our marriage how abysmal I am to hold up to that ideal? But I shall not allow you to suffer that darkness alone. Elves have our own blight in the history of our race, and darkness not so foreign a thing to our fëa as you seem to believe. After all, has there not been Kinslaying in our history? Let me help you bear this darkness when it comes upon you, and together we shall overcome it."

My fingertips caressed the now purplish bruise along the smooth skin of his jaw again. "But I hit you … I _bit _you. That's atrocious of me! How can you say you understand that?"

Again, he pressed my hand against the mark, seeming heedless of any pain the action might cause. "Because you are neither cruel nor violent in your nature. Not even after all you have suffered. That violence lurks beneath the surface, but it does not control your nature. I marvel that you are still capable of such warmth and kindness, when so many other creatures would have so long ago embraced the darkness and violence that had been visited upon them. Do you think the Eldar cannot fathom the desperate need to strike out when one has been so heinously battered and damaged as you have been? It is animal instinct to strike out in anger at even slight provocation when you have been so violently and repeatedly tortured."

He shook his head sadly and continued. "In truth, I see now why I have precipitated such a response in you, and the wrongs I did to bring it about. I have long known your propensity and need to have some order and control in your life, a deep-seated want I well understood after your past, but I did not give one thought to it when I decided you would stay in the city. I was thoughtless to your reaction and to your feelings, thinking only of my own fear."

My eyes closed. "It doesn't excuse what I did."

"Nay, there are neither excuses nor regrets between us, yes? What is done is done; we shall strive to learn and move on. And I shall strive to not be so thoughtless to your past."

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, letting him see my sorrow and regret. "I'm a mess. I doubt you could have found a wife that was more of a mess if you had tried."

He laughed suddenly and pulled me close again. "And you have wed an ellon used to giving orders and being utterly obeyed. An ellon that acts swiftly on his fear of loss for his utter terror of it. I cannot say you have wed the husband I know you to deserve."

Something in his laughter loosened the hard knot in my chest, easing that ache in a way that always surprised me no matter how many times he managed the feat. "What a delightfully rocky marriage we'll have," I darkly laughed. "You'll get to feeling all princely and superior and throw your weight around, ordering me not to do this, or not to go there, and I'll blow a gasket and start yelling and screaming back." I pulled back to look up at the smile now growing on his face. "But you were right not to let me walk away before. It's never good when I stew on that kind of anger. It just grows and gets worse. But please, _don't _ever let me hit you again. We both know you're stronger and faster than I am. Do whatever it takes to stop me. Don't let me do that again."

He smiled tenderly. "I will not make a promise I cannot keep. If expending such little hurt on your part helps ease that darkness that has taken root within you, I will gladly bear far worse. I would rather see you still strike out rather than shrink away when you feel so threatened, for it means that you have not let the darkness conquer you. That you have still not allowed your past to defeat you. That you fight still what was done to you and can still defeat it. But I shall promise to ever help you find other venues to ease the anger and darkness in your fëa. We shall assuage that obstacle together." His face sobered. "Though first must come the great task of surviving this coming battle."

My hand found his as I carefully stretched upwards to chastely kiss the cut I'd inflicted on his lower lip. The split already seeming to have begun healing over. "We'll do that together. Standing side-by-side this time. Neither of us will have to sit in terror awaiting the news. We'll face it together. That's all we can do."

"I pray the Valar shall see us through this battle."

"Me too," I whispered.

"Are you yet angry with my demeanor?" he asked cautiously, and I was surprised by the shy and somewhat cheeky smile on his face.

"Honestly? Yeah. I am. I can take orders from superior officers—God knows I did enough of that in the Marines and as a cop—but I don't take orders from someone I should be on equal footing with, so yeah, you're still in the doghouse for even _thinking_ of forcing me to stay behind," I honestly answered.

He glanced down at our joined hands, seeming to wait for me to yank it away. "I do not understand what a 'doghouse' is," he slowly said, "nor how housing for an animal pertains to the matter, but I should venture to guess it is not a good thing."

I laughed. "Nope. It's not a good thing, but if it's any comfort, I think my own atrocious behavior is just as deserving—if not more so—of some time in the doghouse, so at least we won't be lonely in there."

He laughed and pulled me closer.

But any rose-colored views of our future together were now wiped from my imagination. For the first time, I began realizing just how much two strong-willed individuals such as we were, were likely to butt heads in the future. And with my own penchant now to lash out when I felt cornered, I could see that we were in for a bumpy ride. And probably a bruising one.

Legolas leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Our path may be rocky, yet I imagine that our bond shall be the stronger for our trials. Ever shall we strive to strengthen our bond when such trials might otherwise set us apart." He pulled back and smiled. "Never shall we fall prey to boredom at the least."

I still felt slightly unnerved that he'd heard my thoughts, but after the last doozey of a fight, I pushed the feeling away for the time being. Now was not the time to rock the boat anymore. "No, I really doubt we'll ever have the chance to grow bored," I ruefully agreed.

We would undoubtedly fight more, but I realized I'd rather fight with Legolas if it meant we were truly fighting _with_ each other, on the same side, not just fighting each other from opposing sides. If we could fight with the goal in mind to strengthen our marriage, maybe that wasn't so bad a thing.

After all, they did say love was a battle.

* * *

As we walked together back towards the large tent, I realized all of the gathered men—well, males—from the tent I'd dubbed headquarters, were still gathered around the opening, watching us with unrestrained curiosity.

Legolas felt my stride falter and tugged me along, whispering to me that what they thought was of no consequence. I glanced up at his steady expression and realized he was right. If he had accepted what had happened between us and felt everything was resolved, it didn't matter what the men thought. I was used to far worse than anything they might think after our little spat.

Yet at the same time, I realized I did strangely care what a few individuals thought. And I wasn't used to caring what anyone thought about me. But I _did _care about what Gimli, Aragorn, and Gandalf might think.

Strangely, the wizard seemed to be suppressing a smile, and there was a definite twinkle in his eyes. Our fight, I supposed, was probably merely entertaining to an immortal, all-powerful wizard.

But Aragorn and Gimli watched with wary eyes, both straining as they looked us over. Yet I sighed with relief when I realized there was only worry in their eyes, not condemnation.

The others I causally dismissed from my notice. I didn't care much what they thought.

"Everything a'right with ye two?" Gimli asked as we stepped back into the tent, the gathered males parting to allow us through the sea of testosterone.

We continued into the tent until we were standing at the long table, once more gathering around to look down on the maps scattered there, as though our argument had never interrupted the previous meeting.

"All is well, friend-Gimli," Legolas assured him with a warm smile. "Elaina has been tutoring me in my true and correct responsibilities as a husband."

Gimli chuckled loudly at that, and even Aragorn broke into a smile.

"I'm sure the Lass'll fin' that a ne'er-endin' task, just as mos' females do," Gimli laughed.

I rubbed my thigh and said ruefully, "Well, I'll probably spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how a wife is 'supposed' to act, too."

"You have resolved your argument?" Aragorn cautiously inquired.

"Yeah. As best we can anyway. I won't be staying here in the city. I'll be going with when you leave." As I spoke, I glanced around the tent to meet the eyes of the other gathered men as I made my declaration.

Those that I had come to know a little didn't seem all that surprised, and a few even nodded to me at my proclamation. But many of the men I didn't know pursed their lips in disapproval. But I paid them little attention.

The elven twins—the sons of Elrond—Elladan and Elrohir, both gazed down at the dirt floor of the tent. Seeming lost in thought at my words and with no little disapproval on their faces as well.

My eyes had just started to travel past them when one of them looked up at Aragorn and crossly said, "I thought your words yesterday upon the field were spoken in jest, Estel." The twin—I couldn't say which—rounded on Legolas next. "What in Arda has possessed you that you would wed a mortal, and such an ill-tempered one at that?"

My barriers were down, so I knew there was more that he thought to himself, but as with all elves, I still hadn't learned their languages yet so I didn't know what his thoughts specifically were.

Legolas suddenly lunged forward beside me, and after years of serving with hot-tempered Marines and hotheaded cops, I automatically reached out and grabbed Legolas by the arms from behind, pulling him to a stop as he tried to reach the twin that had spoken.

But my attempts to stop his physical movement didn't stop his voice. "You dare to say that the Valar cannot support our union?" he growled. "I assure you, They themselves have blessed our binding, Elladan. Do not again ever call my wife 'a lowly mortal.'"

Seeing that restraining him from behind wasn't working—he was still pulling against me and making ground—and that it was doing nothing to stop his verbal attack, I quickly stepped in front of Legolas and pushed against his chest to stop him. He did stop, but still glared over my shoulder at the other elf.

It finally struck me that I was feeling a deep roiling anger, but one that felt different from my earlier anger. And suddenly it struck me that the anger was not emanating _from_ me, but originating within Legolas. I wondered that I hadn't felt his emotions before, but realized that even though Legolas's emotions were always there within me, they weren't so strong as to overcome my own emotions. It was a comforting thought to realize that I could always sense them, but that they also would not overtake me. Even as much anger as my elf was feeling at the moment, they didn't overcome my own emotion and I could clearly identify them as not being my own.

"He didn't _say_ I was 'a lowly mortal,' Legolas," I whispered to him, trying to get his attention, and praying that no one else overheard my words. "And you can't hold against others what they _think_. I didn't understand his words, but there was no maliciousness behind the thought, and you can't blame or fault people for their knee-jerk reactions and thoughts. If you're gonna be stuck with hearing the minds of others now—and I'm really sorry I've put you through that—then you're gonna have to learn to control it so you don't hear their thoughts all the time, or learn how to ignore them when you do hear thoughts like that. People have to be free to think whatever they want. They can't _help _what they think sometimes."

Legolas finally tore his gaze from the twin—Elladan—and looked down at me. "I will not have another of my kind say such things about my wife." He glanced back up at Elladan. "Your family line is descended from a mortal man as well. Your great-great-grandfather was the mortal Beren. Elros himself chose to take the path of Man. How can you think such ill of mortals?" He jerked his head towards Aragorn. "You count Aragorn as a brother to you, and is he not mortal?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see Elladan's consternation, and even the consternation of his twin, who didn't seem to know how to feel or react at the moment.

"Of course I love Estel!" Elladan returned. "But he is Dúnadan and not as other mortals. Still, I would not love him less were he not of the Dúnedain. But wedding a woman wholly mortal? The eldar and race of Man are not meant for each other, Legolas. You are dooming yourself to heartache and despair, damning yourself to walk in shadow after her short years are spent."

"And what of me?" Aragorn wearily asked, and our collective eyes tracked over to see him heavily leaning down, his hands braced on the dark wood of the table as he stared down at its surface. "You and Elrohir know of my love for Arwen, and know that I intend to wed her when I have accomplished the task Elrond has laid before me. Do you direct such feelings towards our intentions as well? Am I too only damning her?" The last utterance came out a miserable whisper, and I knew then that he'd long harbored the same worries himself.

"You'd be a fool if you think yourself lofty enough to decide the hearts of others, or try to make for them such grave decisions, Aragorn," I told the man. "Don't you think I've had the same terrifying thoughts?" At that, the man finally looked up to meet my eyes, both of us ignoring all those still gathered in the tent. "As someone who once lived through fates worse than most deaths imaginable, I can tell you now that even a few moments of real happiness are enough to sustain you through the worst heartaches. If you truly love Arwen, you'll let her decide for herself if a time of happiness is worth all the rest. And believe me, that happiness will sustain her through any shadow she must walk through after."

I glanced back at the twins to see Elladan's head was turned down, his expression torn as his brother placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder. And I knew his problems with me were as much about his worries for his sister as anything else. Though not all.

"You love your sister, but you can't make decisions for her. She's not an elfling."

He looked back up at me, tears glistening in his eyes though he steadfastly refused to let them fall. "You do not know my sister." Though it was a statement, the lilt in his voice gave it question.

I shrugged. "I know a lot of things. And I may not seem like a lot of women or other females, but I do know a female's heart. And I'll tell all of you males here and now, one thing a woman—any female—hates even more than being told what they will do, is being told what they should _feel_."

A few of the men chuckled—the ones I figured were married themselves—but many of the others only looked contemplative.

Aragorn walked around the table and surprised me by pulling me into a hug. "I have not yet offered you my congratulations, my friend."

He turned and pulled Legolas into another hug. "I pray your time together, however long, shall be enough to sustain you my friend, and know that you can turn to your friends for comfort when the time comes."

Though he had whispered the words to Legolas, I heard them anyway. "Let's not go burying me yet, Aragorn. I'm still alive for the time being."

He laughed as he pulled away from my elf. "Truly you speak," he chuckled, "and with great wisdom beyond your years. I will take heed of them and know that should I again need your instruction in the hearts of females, that I can turn to you, lest I find myself fighting the same battles with Arwen if she will yet have me."

"Well, I'd like to think that I've learned a few things over the years, and I'm glad that I can offer a few words of wisdom to those younger than myself. I doubt I have too much of use to offer the elves, or even Gimli for that matter."

Aragorn looked slightly chagrined. "In truth, I am older than you suppose, I have now passed eighty-eight years in my life. The Dúnedain giving my line a longer life than most mortals."

A smile grew on my face. I was used to hiding my real age, and actually relished now being in a land where a mortal of my lifespan was not supposed to have been an impossibility. "Still got ya beat," I told him. "The Fae in my own bloodline gives me a longer lifespan as well. I'm somewhere around ninety-two, I think. Though I've never known for sure what year I was born."

I laughed at the gaping mouths of Aragorn and Gimli; and as I looked around the tent, realized theirs weren't the only mouths gaping.

Even the sons of Elrond were gapping, though Elladan still looked disapproving and downtrodden. _Oh well, _I thought to myself, _a few words weren't going to change Elladan's mind on things or put to rest his worries for his sister. Time might, but even that could be a stretch. _

Thankfully, Aragorn turned the conversation back to planning the coming battle. I knew he and the others probably had more questions, but he seemed to realize now was neither the time nor place for the discussion.

* * *

Only after several hours had passed, the meeting ended, and the tent emptied of most of the others, did Legolas and I again step out of the canvas structure and under the open air of the sky.

Darkness had fallen and stars now dotting the sky, with most of the men having returned to the city or to their tents for the night.

Legolas and I paused outside the large tent with Aragorn, Gimli, and interestingly enough, the twins still hanging around. I wasn't sure where Gandalf had disappeared.

The twins were still glancing at me with unrestrained curiosity and question, and though I saw doubt and some disapproval in the eyes of the twin I guessed to be Elladan, there was no real animosity there.

Still, Legolas's face was tight and drawn as he stepped closer to me and grasped my hand in his warm grip, pulling me into his side.

Aragorn didn't miss the undercurrents. "The hearing of thoughts is not a common gift among elves, not one given outside of a ring of power," he casually conceded.

I turned back to the Ranger with a guilty smile, somehow not surprised that he'd heard my words to Legolas. "Nope. And I'm guessing it's still not. That would be my fault, and I'm obviously still going to have to teach Legolas a few things about it. Along with some of the etiquette that goes along with my little quirk."

"How's such a thin' possible, Lass?" Gimli rumbled, stroking his beard and proving that he was no slower or worse of hearing than Aragorn. I was glad he also seemed no more concerned with Legolas possibly hearing his thoughts than he'd ever been with me hearing them.

I glanced up at Legolas to see if he was going to answer, but he seemed lost in a silent debate with Elladan as they stared at one another.

"Well, I don't know how much you know about elves, Gimli, but when they marry, they bind themselves together, right down to their souls. My fairy ancestors once did something very similar, only with my ancestors, they shared everything, their souls, and even any special magics one might have. My telepathy I don't think is magic, but as you can tell, I still ended up sharing it with Legolas, I guess. But I still have a lot to teach him about living with it."

As I spoke the last part, I gave a hard tug on said elf's hand until he looked down into my raised eyebrow.

"I do not care for Elladan's treatment in your regard; you are my wife, and I will not apologize for my words," he told me.

A smile nearly crept onto my expression at him assuming I was going to demand he apologize, but I ignored it and told him, "And I don't care for the general treatment of women in this world, nor the fact that they usually are thought of as belonging to their husband or father, but you can't change so many ages of indoctrinated behavior. Like I said earlier, people have to be free to think what they want."

Legolas looked incredulous. "You think I should not care what prejudices those even of my own kind harbor towards you?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed at his naïveté. "You've only experienced this for _one day_. I've lived with it my _entire life. _And I've experienced far worse prejudices than this. I was a woman in the military—a woman doing man's work. You bet there was prejudice there. And believe me, I was more than prepared to face a little prejudice over our marriage. But you've got to accept it, too. And accept that it's their right to be prejudiced."

It felt a little too much like we were talking about Elladan in front of his face, so I moved along, facing Gimli again. "So that's what happened," I surmised.

The dwarf quickly caught on. "It's a surprising thin', Lassie, no less surprising than tha news that you're even older than Aragorn."

I only shrugged. "It's not like we sat around the campfire saying, 'sooo, how old's everyone?' It just never came up. And it's mostly unheard of in my land, so I'm not used to talking about any of it."

"What are these 'fairies' you say are in your bloodline?" Elrohir suddenly asked.

Deciding that curiosity wasn't so bad a thing on his part, I launched into a quick explanation about my ancestors, and then had to give another explanation about being from a different world, smiling to myself at their doubt about that. But Aragorn and Gimli didn't counter my words, so the twins seemed to take that into account.

As I finally finished, I could see my fight with Legolas replaying in Elladan's mind, and no doubt him drawing parallels between my description of my ancestors and my own behavior.

"'Twas my fault I caused such anger in your response," Legolas whispered against my temple, having obviously seen the same thing I had, and or caught on to my own thoughts.

"Yeah, but you can't deny that my behavior didn't exactly seem too impressive either."

Gimli loudly cleared his throat, stopping the whispered conversation between Aragorn and the twins. "Well, I'm sure tha Lad and Lass are red'ah to return to their marriage bed." At that, he grinned as Legolas and I both open-mouth gaped at him. "And I'm sure tha rest of us could use a good night's rest as well."

Bending down, I laughed as I embraced Gimli and said goodnight, chuckling at his audacity. And then exchanged goodnights with Aragorn as well.

I was surprised when Elrohir stepped in front of us. "I can see that there is great love in your hearts, and though I do not understand so strange a union, I offer my hopes that it continues to bring you happiness."

Elladan stepped beside his brother and with a resigned sigh, his expression proving that he was by no means won over and still disapproving, though he did offer, "Perhaps I am too quick to form opinions, but I too can see you harbor great love. And I do not wish heartache upon either of you."

It definitely wasn't approval, and it wasn't even really wishing us well, but I squeezed my elf's hand and answered for the both of us, "Thank you. I know this must seem strange to you, and you don't even know me, but I hope you can one day see that I am doing my best to ensure we're both as happy as we can be."

Legolas nodded to the twins and I pulled him away, heading once more up the long path through the city. It had been a long day, and I almost thought these emotional battles were far more draining than the battle the day before had been.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry about the longer update time. August was very hectic and September is definitely going to be worse. I manage a horse sale that runs at the end of September, so that'll keep me very busy. I'll update when I can, but it won't be on the weekly schedule that I normally like to keep, though I'll still try as best I can. Just don't count on any regularity in September! :)

Now, first off, I know I'll probably get some people who don't like Lane's reactions in this chapter and don't think it's in keeping with her character, but I _will _defend this to the hilt. I've studied a lot about Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), known people who suffered with it, as well as struggled with it myself my entire life. And I have carefully laid out Lane's PTSD (and chronic PTSD at that) from the very first chapter when she was still in her own world. Lane has continually fought with sleeplessness, irritability over little things, exaggerated flight-or-fight response, flashbacks, nightmares, a tendency towards emotional numbing, and now, her angry outburst. Along with other symptoms. Her anger has always been lurking beneath the surface, and I've let it peek out, but now it burst through violently. And again, I will defend her violent outburst as authentic.

As I said, I've struggled with my own PTSD most of my life, and my own remaining personal demon there is my quick anger, and yes, when I was younger, even to the point of violence. I mostly can keep it hidden—even people who've known me for years think I'm incredibly laid back—but they don't see the times I finally crack and the veneer slips. I've mostly controlled the violent outbursts as I've aged, but the temper is still there. And I can speak from experience that the beaten dog, no matter how meek when being beaten, can and will break and respond with the same violence it was shown.

And Lane's behaviors and responses are fairly in keeping with many returning Vets from combat suffering with PTSD. It's probably a miracle she keeps herself together as well as she does, or as Legolas noted, hasn't turned cruel because of it. But as we see in this chapter, her careful restraint can still snap.

Most of Lane's symptoms aren't any I myself have experienced—she's been through far worse than I have—but like I said, I've known others with PTSD and I've studied it as well.

And I know it might seem like she snapped over a little thing, but Lane's life has been changing ever since she arrived in Middle-earth, and especially now in such a short timeframe. She's suddenly married, bound heart and soul to another, and having to adjust to _someone else _knowing _her _thoughts and emotions. Not to mention all the trauma from the battles she just came through. So much change like this is not only hard, but also not actually good for someone with PTSD.

But anyway, I guess that's my soapbox for this chapter. :) Just wanted to make it clear that I'm not writing Lane's reactions this way just because it's fun. It's been carefully studied and planned.

Thanks so much for all the reviews and for the new followers and favorites! Welcome to the story.

And as always, let me know what you thought!


	11. A Promise for Passion

**Chapter 11: A Promise for Passion**

The armies of Rohan, Gondor, and Dol Amroth rode out of the city two days later. Many men steadfastly resolved to march into Mordor as they were asked by their lords, but I knew many would falter and be unable to continue to our end destination.

Unlike our previous battles, I rode beside Legolas in the van with the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond. I had meant to ride separately from Legolas, as we had done before in Rohan, but my concession to his worries and fears was to ride beside Gimli and himself. Gandalf rode in the vanguard as well, but Pippin rode further back with the other soldiers of Gondor.

In the two days since meeting at the tent headquarters, we had seen Gimli frequently, often taking meals with him as we wandered the city, but we'd only seen the others a few times. Mostly Legolas and I had remained in my rooms—now _our _rooms in the Citadel. Savoring our time together in the safe cocoon of our private quarters, shutting the outside world away.

But all things had to end, and our little reprieve had as well.

When we'd again donned our weapons and gear, the carefree, laughing smile of those two days had disappeared from my elf's face. Replaced by a somber, but steadfast resolve.

We hadn't spoken any more about me marching from the city with the others, and when I'd pulled my weapons on, we still exchanged no words about it.

Instead, Legolas had pulled me into his arms and engulfed me in a fierce, passionate kiss that left me standing breathless as he turned and strode purposefully from our room, not waiting for me to trail behind.

And now, we rode from the city with the armies trailing behind us as trumpets announced our departure.

Every so often, Legolas would glance over at me, his expression flat and unreadable, but almost as though he merely needed to reassure himself of my presence.

Gimli too looked my way quite often throughout the day, but we exchanged many encouraging smiles between us, both loath to break the quelling silence of the march.

As we reached Osgiliath, all the men were disheartened by the sight of the destruction there. But it seemed to spur their actions as the men hurriedly repaired ferries and bridges. But the army was slowed by their efforts, and it took longer still to move the entirety of the army across the river.

Not far out of Osgiliath, I could see that the foot-soldiers were flagging and would soon need to stop and rest.

I glanced back at them, but apparently couldn't keep the irritation from showing on my face.

"It's hard work marchin' a'foot in such armor, Lass," Gimli explained.

"I know," I replied with a heavy sigh. "I'm just not used to marching with an army that's on foot." I glanced backwards at the huge mass of men and added in a whisper, "Or traveling with an army so damn big."

"I thought you said yer own army was grand, Lass?"

With a slight smile, I faced Gimli again, reminding myself that there was nothing wrong with dwarven hearing. "I was a Marine, Gimli, I wasn't in the Army. But regardless, my country's military in general didn't rely on massive numbers like this anymore. We mostly used advanced weaponry and shock and awe to beat our enemies."

"Ye'll have to tell us 'bout this weaponry, Lass," Gimli said, the relish and excitement evident in his voice and expression.

"Someday, Gimli. Someday," I laughed, looking past him to meet Legolas's eyes. There was an understanding in them, and an almost knowing smile; I think he realized I had no intention of bringing knowledge of my world's weaponry to my new home.

Legolas's knowing smile lingered in my memory. In the scant days since we'd been wed, Legolas and I had made great strides in understanding the bond between us, but I knew we had only scratched the surface of it. There were times now when Legolas so deftly caught my thoughts, that I wasn't even aware that he had until he would say something in return to my thoughts, but most of the time he seemed intent on blocking out all the thoughts he was inundated with, commenting that he found them too distracting and overwhelming to his other senses.

One new twist to our bond had been discovered the night after we wed. When we returned to our rooms, Legolas quickly noted that the scabs on my chest had nearly healed, and the bruises from the battle all but vanished. It wasn't quite elven healing speed, but it did seem that I had gained something from our bonding as well. Though I maintained that I got the better bargain. Even my hearing and sight seemed markedly better, though I hadn't realized it for more than a day, and even then, Legolas had been the one to point it out.

But many other things had changed between us as well. There had long been a level of understanding between us that I was only now appreciating. Sometime in the building of our friendship, we'd come to know each other better than I had realized even a few days ago. Little things, and little looks, I understood and interpreted almost without thought. And even without the benefit of catching my thoughts, Legolas was able to understand so much about me as well. And even when he didn't initially anticipate a response from me, he still understood why I responded as I did.

And yet, I happily realized that there was still so much about each other that remained unfathomable. So much about each of us that remained a mystery to the other.

I had felt Legolas's overwhelming fear for me going into Mordor with the others, and yet, he'd somehow managed to stow that all away, resolutely riding by my side toward the very end I knew he was so loath of. And how he overcame the fear I knew he still harbored, was as unfathomable to me as some of the rest.

As was his strength in overcoming other obstacles. As we crossed the river, the gulls wheeled overhead and cried out in shrill screams. Legolas's gaze was drawn downriver towards the sea, yet when the army began to move again, the impassive mask returned as he faced forward and rode on with the others. Only the ache I sensed from him in the pit of my stomach belied his stoic expression.

* * *

Only a few miles from Osgiliath, the foot-soldiers stopped for the night to make camp, but the riders pushed on, finally making the few miles to the Cross-roads before we likewise stopped. Trumpets sounded in each direction, heralding the lords of Gondor's coming. But no answer resounded to the calls.

I watched absently as several men righted the statue of the king, removing the gruesome Orc head that had been planted on it, and replacing the head crowned in gold and white flowers. And though it was worn and battered, the flowers gave it a sense of majesty. The men studiously cleaned and removed the filth of the Orc's defilement, adding to its beauty. It was comforting to see so small a thing corrected. So small a thing returned to the state it should have been. And it reinforced my reasoning to leave as much of my old world behind as possible. Especially in these days when this world was being returned to its righteousness.

Legolas stepped beside me where I stood watching, my hands still lightly grasping Lightfoot's reins. He gently touched my elbow, and moved to slip the gelding's reins from my hands.

"I can take care of him," I told him.

"Of course," he demurred. "But only one of us need find a line to picket the horses." As he spoke, he removed his pack and handed it to me. I was thankful to see that his smile had almost returned to normal after his bout of sea longing. "If you would lay out our bedrolls, I shall care for the horses."

Relinquishing my hold on the reins, I told him, "All right, I see Gimli sitting by a fire near Aragorn and the others. I'll head over there for now. If we want to move a little further away from the others later on for privacy, we always can."

He nodded and left to his task.

As I joined Gimli at the fire, sitting on the log he had scooted over on and placing our packs at my feet, I listened absently to the men discussing the next course of our journey.

Imrahil championed the path to Minas Morgal, thinking to overthrow some of the forces there, but Gandalf adamantly argued against it, explaining that if that was indeed the path Frodo had chosen, we shouldn't march in that direction and draw attention to that area.

As they talked and argued over the different routes, I looked up to see Aragorn thoughtfully watching me from across the fire, his pipe forgotten in his hand. I could see the question in his eyes, but I gave a slight shake of my head, and he merely nodded once in return.

"You know our destined path, do you not?" Legolas whispered against my temple as he carefully sat on the log beside me. Gimli and I slid down to give him more room, but Legolas pulled me close into his side so the three of us could fit.

"Yes," I whispered back. "But like everything else, I can't say anything and change the intended course. Besides, the longer I'm here, the harder it is to remember everything, most of the details have slipped away, and now the big stuff is getting harder to remember, too." It was almost strange now to think that my knowledge had come from reading a book once in my previous world. Knowledge right down to conversations and arguments as well as events. Some of those I still remembered quite well. Others I didn't.

"For what is your amusement?" Legolas asked.

I pulled my eyes from staring into the dancing flames and looked back at my elf, realizing I must have given a dry laugh at my thoughts.

"I was just thinking how strange it seems to me now to think that my knowledge of this world and its events came from reading a book," I whispered back to him. "I once felt like such an outsider during the passage of events I knew. But now—now I have to remind myself just _how _it is that I actually know things. Now the men sit around talking about what path we should take, and I feel like I _should _be taking part in the conversation. It's just strange to suddenly realize after so many months of feeling like an outsider, that now I feel like I have as much stake in this outcome as anyone, and that I should have a say, too."

"Your stake in this outcome is indeed as clear as any gathered here," Aragorn suddenly said from across the way, his arms spread out wide to encompass those gathered around the fire. I was continually reminding myself that only the true mortals like the men of Rohan lacked very superb hearing. Those with Númenórean blood had hearing rivaled only by their distant elven cousins. "You need not feel like you must remain an outsider offering no words of thought to the matter. Speak your mind without need of remaining in the shadows. Long we would have welcomed you within our number, and indeed in our hearts have already counted you thus. Was not us that placed you ever on the outside, but by your own choice to remain there."

I looked around the fire at those gathered with their faces tipped expectantly towards mine. Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, and Pippin all watched and offered encouraging smiles, no refute to Aragorn's words on their lips. But the number was rounded out by Éomer, Imrahil, Halbarad, Elladan, Elrohir, and a handful of other Rangers whose faces I was learning, even if not yet their names. But not even these others watched with any scorn, though I almost felt from the intensity of Elladan's probing stare that a hole might form in my forehead.

"It's not that any of you have made me feel like I should remain on the outside, you're right, I've done that myself. But it's just such an eerie feeling to watch a scene unfold when I already know exactly how it's going to happen. You've all been more than accommodating in making me feel like I could be a part of the group if I wanted, but it's so hard to convince myself that it's okay," I explained, gesturing to the remaining Fellowship. "How could I feel like anything but an outsider when I've seen what was supposed to happen, and I _know_ I wasn't supposed to be here for any of it?"

Aragorn finally brought his forgotten pipe to his mouth and inhaled a long puff, slowly releasing it before he thoughtfully said, "Perhaps it was not intended for you to know your part in this world. Would not They have kept you from seeing signs of your own fate in these visions? You once warned the dangers of knowing even small parts of the coming future, for the threat of altering them and causing a much worse fate. Could not They have limited your scope of vision to prevent this very occurrence?"

"If only it were that easy," I murmured to myself. "But I don't think people are really meant to know what's coming."

Those of the Fellowship all had some understanding of my knowledge concerning coming events, but the other men seemed completely shocked by our conversation. But seeing Aragorn who they already counted as king—whether he had yet claimed his crown or not—treat my knowledge so seriously, had them leaning forward and listening raptly.

Legolas held my hand between us, slowly running his thumb over my knuckles. "Have you not known the course of events since we came upon you in Hollin?" he gently probed. "Yet not any ill has befallen from your knowledge. Has not the course of fates flowed as it was meant? You have known the future and prepared yourself thus, but you have not altered the coming of fate." Legolas's countenance suddenly darkened.

"What?" I asked.

"Though I have been loath to voice it, it is for your knowledge of the coming events that I have been fearful of your joining our march," he carefully explained.

"I don't understand."

"Terror strikes my heart at the thought of your perishing, but terror also strikes my heart at the thought of the Dark Lord finding you and using you to take your knowledge for his own use."

My blood ran cold at his words, and I fought the urge to wrap my arms protectively around myself. I had carefully tried to push away all thoughts of Sauron and how easily he had entered my thoughts and coursed pain through my mind, but the truth was, he too was there in my nightmares. Along with the memories of what he was capable of.

"He'll have more to worry about than little ole me by the time we get there," I said, trying to assure both him and myself.

"He would take your knowledge and seek to use it to change the course of events. He cannot be allowed to gain such sensitive knowledge and try to alter fate."

I shrugged. "I've tried to alter it more than you realize." I resolutely met his eye and continued. "I tried to save Boromir at Amon Hen that day, but he fell despite my efforts." My eyes traveled briefly over Halbarad before returning to Legolas. "And I didn't fail in other attempts. Most things have stayed the same, but some little things _have _changed. Like you going off that cliff in Rohan. That _wasn't _supposed to happen. But the question is: how many other things will snowball and change because of what I've affected."

"Fate had marked me to die on the battlefield," Halbarad whispered. My eyes returned to the young Ranger to refute his correct guess, in no way intending him to shoulder such knowledge, but he continued before I could speak. "I saw my fate in your eyes on the battlefield that day, and I see the truth of it in your eyes now. You foresaw my death but fought at my side and spared my life that day."

"Yeah. I did. But I never intended you to know. It was my choice, and truthfully, I'd make the same choice again. I couldn't know every single soldier that would die on that field that day, but I knew _you_ were supposed to, and I saw no reason why you should have to." But in my heart, I knew I would one day be called to atone for my choice. I could only pray that the price wasn't too steep.

"And this, too, is how you knew to concentrate our archers upon the trolls at the gate," Imrahil whispered in an almost awed shock.

I merely jerked my head down once in response.

"You likely saved many lives with your advice that night," Imrahil said, his head shaking in disbelief. "The gate splintered in the end, but your actions meant it held for longer than it might have otherwise and gave the Rohirrim time to come to our aid. The Enemy never breached the gate, though it was broken in the end."

"Perhaps you were meant to save young Halbarad's life," Legolas offered. "You were presented with the knowledge of his fate by the Valar, and then placed before him to alter that course. And perhaps, too, you were meant to save those lives by slowing the destruction of the city's gate."

My head shook in response as I wrapped my arms tightly around myself. "I just read it all in a book. It was no gift from the Valar. I wasn't even meant to be here. It was an _accident_ that I ended up here," I insisted, remembering well just who had told me that my presence was an accident.

"Nay!" Legolas firmly returned, tilting my face up to his. "Speak not of such chance occurrences. Our love is neither trivial, nor happenstance. It has been blessed by the Valar themselves."

I didn't answer as I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, steadily raising my barriers so he couldn't catch any thoughts from my swirling mind. And wishing to myself that he could be right. How simple things would indeed be if the Valar actually blessed our union and hadn't made clear that they still intended to remove me from this world. Guilt built in my breast at the thought that I should tell Legolas the truth, tell him that the Valar gave us no blessing and had themselves said my presence was an accident They would see righted by returning me to my world.

But as I looked up into his eyes, I knew I couldn't tell him this harsh truth. Better to let him believe the Valar were on our side than to dash his hopes otherwise. Better to let him believe that lie, and perhaps let myself indulge in that falsehood as well. Even if only the naïve corner of my heart could believe it.

"Maybe They do," I lied. "Maybe They do."

* * *

The subject of what I might know was blessedly dropped, and food was passed around. Mostly it consisted of hard bread and dry cheeses, but some game was scared up and soon was roasting on the scattered fires.

The elves left to scrounge up herbs to flavor the meat, and I was left with Gimli, who felt no little humor in me resting by the fire while my husband provided the provender.

"Laugh all you want, Gimli," I mockingly scowled at the dwarf. "But I bet you'd _all _rather have the elf out looking for food or trying to cook it instead of me. Mostly my idea of cooking was ordering in."

"Orderin' in, Lassie?" he questioned between chuckles.

"Yeah, in my world, you could call up a restaurant you liked and order whatever you wanted, and then either pick it up or have them deliver it to your doorstep. I _lived _on takeout Chinese and pizza when I wasn't on base or overseas serving. And as a cop, I lived on that; and coffee and doughnuts, of course. I never really did learn to cook much. Except grilled cheese sandwiches." I glanced at the crumbling cheese and hard bread in my hand. "And this is a poor substitute."

"Call, Lass? Chinese, pizza, coffee, doughnuts, what are these things ye speak of?" the dwarf asked, his mirth finally sobering as he became interested in a discussion about food.

The remaining men around the fire tried to listen without appearing to, their attention fixed on their own food or bedrolls, but their ears tilted enough to catch our conversation. Not that I cared, it wouldn't have been good to discuss my past so openly with the rest of the army, but I found I trusted those gathered around our fire.

Pippin made no such pretense and dropped beside Gimli on the ground. "I've never heard of those kinds of foods either," the hobbit eagerly said.

"They're kinds of food from my world. Actually, different countries in my world, but Chinese was always a mainstay for me. Although I get the feeling that pizza would be right up your alley, Pip." I turned to Gimli. "Coffee was surely a drink delivered by the gods, if ever there was one, and doughnuts were a wonderful pastry for soaking up the coffee. What I mean by calling is harder to explain. You see, in my world, we had these devices that connected by wires, and through them, you could talk to someone even hundreds of miles away, just like you were standing next to them." I decided not to get into that whole mess of how they operated or even the whole complexity of wireless phones.

The young hobbit was more interested in the food though, and started grilling me on what pizza was an how it was made, and I smiled at the thought of pizzerias opening all over the Shire. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing to bring from my world, although I was sure there were doctors somewhere who would have disagreed.

It was strange to sit around a campfire on our march to battle, and still be able to laugh and smile as I shared stories with Pippin and Gimli, but I silently thanked them both for their personalities and abilities that made such a feat possible. Even when the elves returned, they sat nearby and fondly listened to the tales of great banquets and feasts of both dwarven and hobbit legend. Legolas was of course used to the antics of these two, but Elladan and Elrohir seemed to watch Pippin with the rapt attention of someone completely enthralled and unable to articulate just why.

And I sat back against Legolas's side, thinking that it reminded me of many nights out drinking in bars and pubs with the guys before we would get shipped out on our next tour. Or even sitting around with them on base.

As Gimli and Pippin got into a heated debate over the best ingredients for proper beer, I found myself wishing greatly that we had a whole keg to share on this night. As one last celebration before we marched into darker lands.

But even without a cold mug of beer, I knew this was a night I'd hold in my memory for a long time.

* * *

"You have not heeded our words and tempered your actions," the familiar bass voice told me.

I blinked and realized I was back standing in the little thatched-roof cabin I'd grown up in and had last seen Vairë in. My head shook as I tried to clear it, vaguely remembering that Legolas and I had laid our bedrolls out a ways from the others and laid down to rest. I remembered telling him I doubted I'd get any sleep, but it appeared I'd been wrong.

"You really know how to show up out of nowhere and ruin a perfectly good night's rest, don't you, Mandos. Why do you have to keep coming to me in dreams and ruin what little sleep I manage to get?" No matter how impertinent my words probably were, I couldn't keep the irritation from showing, so I quit even trying. _Why bother? The Valar have already made their opinions perfectly clear._

The Vala who still appeared to my eyes as the infamous actor, casually shrugged. "As it was explained to you, your mind accepts our presence most easily in your sleep. My brother makes it possible for myself or others to intrude in your dreams."

"Brother? Great, I've met your wife. Am I going to meet this brother, too? Or how 'bout the rest of the family? Will I be meeting aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well?"

The Vala's gaze narrowed on me as his gaze darkened at my snide words. "You would do well to remember your place and your manners, mortal. Your fate is far from cast in stone."

But I wasn't swayed by the threat. "What's it matter if I _mind my manners_? You and your wife already made your positions very clear. You're going to try and send me back to my world, my wants be damned," I growled, angrily swiping my hand through the air.

"There is much you do not see and much you cannot understand," a feminine lilt intoned behind me.

I turned to see the memory of my mother walk steadily past me and gently place her hand on the arm of the scowling actor turned god.

"And much there is you neither see nor understand as well, my husband," she lovingly told him.

And for the first time since my initial encounter with the Doomsday Vala, I saw his expression brighten as he passed a loving look at the Vala in my mother's guise.

I looked away. "This is just creepy to see my mother making eyes with the voice of Darth Vader. She was dead long before he had even been born."

The two Valar stepped slightly apart and returned their attention to me.

When neither spoke, I broke the awkward silence. "So, what have I done so wrong that it required both of you to tramp around in my dreams?"

"I warned against you interfering with the lives destined for my dominion," Mandos started.

"Oh come on," I interrupted. "Halbarad and anyone else who might not have died that night because of the whole gate thing were all mortals. That means you're going to get them eventually. It's gambling. The house always wins in the end. I just delayed your win a little bit."

"Your words and manner are more impetuous than our last visit," Vairë said reproachfully.

"Well I guess I've realized if you're going to throw me back into my former world anyway, I've got nothing to lose by speaking my mind," I honestly told them both.

"As I said, there is much you cannot see nor do you understand," Vairë repeated.

I ran a frustrated hand over my head. "So what, I don't have to go back now?"

The Weaver of the Valar sighed. "Nothing has changed about your circumstances. You were not born in this world, and you cannot be allowed to perish in it. The world of your birth must be the one of your death."

"Or what? Will the universe implode if I die here?"

Vairë shrugged elegantly. "Your fate would likely be far worse if you die in a world you were not born to. Your fëa would be cast adrift, never finding peace. As for what could happen to your world and ours?" She again shrugged. "Not even We can accurately say."

"So let me stay here until then," I suddenly pleaded, not caring in the slightest if begging was a thing I so loathed. "Let me stay here with Legolas until I'm old and spent, and then you can send me back to my old world to die. I don't really care where my body takes its last breath."

"You presume to make requests now. As well as presume you shall live that long," Mandos rumbled, crossing his arms imposingly over his chest. "You have acted as you were warned against, and now seek to ask favors."

Vairë placed a soothing hand on his arm. But instead of speaking to him, she turned and continued speaking to me.

"The elf prince is at the heart of a great deal of our current troubles," she explained.

My own arms crossed over my own chest, mimicking the stance of the dark Vala. "I don't understand."

"You have wed and bound your fëa with the elf prince. An occurrence none of the Valar foresaw."

"I thought you guys were supposed to be all powerful and all knowing," I said, grasping my arms tighter as I puzzled through her words.

"Nay, though we each hold dominion over our own purview, we are none of us all knowing or all powerful. Such omnipotence is for Eru Ilúvatar alone. The Valar know much about the lands of Arda, but you are a being foreign to us. If we had realized you would so be able to bind the elf prince's fëa to your own …" she trailed off.

"What? You would have stopped it?" I asked, my voice rising at the incredulous notion.

Vairë didn't move, but Mandos shrugged as though to say it wouldn't have mattered to him.

I turned away and walked over to the rough-hewn window looking out over my mother's garden and the green hills beyond it. That garden had been one of her few joys in life, tending it and gathering the rewards of her hard labor.

"Maybe you would have tried to stop it, but you can't undo it now. It's done, and there's no way to break a binding like that," I whispered, not turning to look back at the pair. "You said yourself that the Valar didn't know it was possible and aren't all knowing. But what if Ilúvatar allowed it to happen? Can you really be so callous as to just rip us apart now and throw me back into my world? A world where I have no home and no place. A world where I'll never be happy."

"We are neither one callous to your situation," Mandos rumbled, surprising me by his admission. I turned to look over my shoulder as he continued. "As my wife weaves the tale of Arda and knows the fit of every being in its tale, so too do I appreciate where all beings find their fit. Most find their ways to my halls eventually, as you so noted, and then go on to their own realms of fëa. But as you have lamented, you are not as mortals here. You are not Dúnedain, but nor are you of the Eldar race. So where is your fëa to dwell? There is not even a place of dwelling for those of your mixed kind in your own world, is there not?"

I shook my head. "I don't belong anywhere," I whispered.

Vairë stepped forward again, taking my hands. A jolt went through my body at the contact, and I realized that neither Vala had ever touched me before this. I wasn't sure what jolted through me where her hands grasped mine, or even if it was something physical since this was in fact a dream, but she soon pulled my attention away from our hands as she spoke.

"There will come a time when a choice is put before you. I cannot say when, for I know not how these events shall unfold, but if you are determined to remain with your prince, you will have to make difficult choices and pass through the flames."

The words almost seemed familiar, but before I could dwell on it, she squeezed my hand and drew my attention back to her eyes as she implored me.

"I would have you make any other choice than this, for to even reach the point of attaining your _chance _at remaining with your prince, you must endure such torment and hardship. Let your words to the Dúnadan ring true, take what memories you shall be given with your prince, and hold them close to your heart when you must return to your world. Let them bloom in your heart and never be forgotten."

"I don't … I don't understand," I stuttered.

"Atonement must be made," Mandos rumbled, drawing my attention back to him. "Of more import however: a test through the flames. Will you prove strong enough to grasp what you yearn for?" He shook his head, almost seeming saddened now. "Your path is ultimately destined to end in your world. You cannot be allowed to perish here. Where your fëa shall dwell from there, I cannot say."

The image of the cabin faded away, and last to disappear from my sight, was the saddened visage of my mother standing beside the famous actor. Both were shaking their heads sorrowfully.

"I truly am sorry for the fate you must be dealt," that deep voice heavily intoned.

And blackness fell again.

* * *

My eyes popped open only to be met by darkness. For a terrifying moment, I thought it had all been a tantalizing, torturous dream. That the blackness greeting my eyes was my cave and prison in North Korea. That everything had just been a cruelly taunting dream of my mind and I had never escaped at all. But my mind and eyes adjusted and I saw the twinkling stars in the night sky. I sighed with relief that it hadn't all been a dream or imagining.

Legolas still lay beside me, his eyes open to the sky, but with that glazed quality that told me he was getting some respite. But as I slowly sat up, his eyes cleared and focused on me.

"Your sleep was troubled?" he asked, no doubt seeing something in my eyes or even catching the unsettled feelings I could feel churning in my own chest.

"Something like that," I whispered back, mindful of the men still sleeping not so far away.

I tossed back my blanket and started to stand, but Legolas caught my wrist while I was still crouched.

"I just need to go for a walk and get some fresh air," I replied in answer to his look.

He released my hand with a nod and sprang lightly to his feet to follow me.

Gimli snorted loudly in between his usual trucker snoring, and as I walked by him, I used my toe to shove at his shoulder, rolling him, and hoping to grant the others around him a little quieter rest.

But the dwarf snorted again as he rolled, then started muttering, "—swimming—mmmm—wit'd the little hairy women."

I choked back a laugh as I stepped past him. He was still snoring, but more gently now.

Legolas paused behind me, his face masked in incredulity at his dear friend, but then he caught up with me. "I think Gimli could sleep through anything," he whispered, taking my hand in his as we walked.

"He'd be the only one with the way he snores," I whispered back.

In silence we continued, walking past the Cross-roads and under the dark boughs of the trees clustered along the North road.

Much of the forest had been burned or plundered by the Orcs, the bark of the trees shriveled and blackened where they were scorched and burned. But many trees still remained, their branches still curling towards the sky.

Legolas reached out as we walked, his fingers lightly brushing against the bark of a tree here, the twig of a branch there. And a feeling of contentment settled into place between us.

"You really like this area, don't you?" Much of the area was darkened by black soot, but spring was already hard at work in the forest, shoots of green grass growing through the soot and muddy patches of ground.

He nodded at my question. "These woods have been battered by Sauron's minions, but the whisper of their promise yet remains beneath the bark."

I stopped and looked at the forest again, trying to imagine what it would look like in the future. When the trees had healed, and young saplings had grown to replace the battered ones.

My Fae blood wasn't so strong that I felt the pull of trees and woodlands like they did, but something spoke to me nevertheless. Perhaps it was the simple, child-like smile on Legolas's face as he occasionally reached out to the trees and murmured to them in elvish.

"I think perhaps I shall offer to Aragorn to bring a number of my kinsmen to this forest at the ending of these dark days. As Gimli sees the potential in the stonework of the city, so too, do I see much potential in these forests. My kinsmen could see that these trees are returned to their former glorious state."

I smiled but added nothing.

"You know something of this?" he asked, and I glanced curiously over at him. "You are well versed most times in hiding your emotions, and your thoughts are yet locked from my reach, but your eyes give much away. I see the sparkle of amusement in them."

The laugh escaped easily and without thought. "You really are coming to know me well." I shook my head. "This forest will be beautiful, I'm sure, when you're done with it. And you'll build a lovely colony here."

"Colony?" he asked in surprise.

It seemed so little a thing, that I couldn't see keeping it from him. "Yeah, here in North Ithilien, you'll build a large colony where many other elves will settle for a time, after the older ones beginning sailing to Valinor."

We had paused momentarily, but began strolling in the faint moonlight again, and I noticed even my night vision seemed stronger than before.

"Is it your wish to settle in these lands?" Legolas prompted.

"You really seem at home here," I said, still chuckling at his careful wording. "But strangely, I actually _can _see building a lovely home here." But my expression darkened momentarily as I recalled my dream. And I wondered if I'd even be allowed to stay long enough to see the colony Legolas would build.

Legolas turned to me questioningly when I came to a stop and tugged on his hand.

"Promise me that no matter what, you'll build that colony here and fulfill all of those plans you have for restoring this forest," I earnestly pleaded, giving my best winsome smile.

But Legolas sobered. "Is there something I do not know?"

Rather than answer with the truth, I diverted him, not willing to tell him I'd be returned to my world at some point. "I _am _mortal, and we _are _marching to battle. But for everything I know about the future here, I'm clueless as to what _exactly_ will happen to me. But I can feel how much you are already in love with this forest, and it's almost obliterated the sea longing you've felt since we crossed the river. You'll be happy here, and I just want you to promise me you'll still build the life here you were meant to. Promise me you'll honor that wish."

He stepped closer and placed his free hand on my shoulder. "Never shall I find happiness if you are not here by my side."

My head slowly shook back and forth as I said, "We can't be fatalistic about this, Legolas. I _will _die one day, and I'm saying that I _want _you to go on and be as happy as you're able. And I think being here in this forest will be a good start. Build that colony, and think of all the happy memories we might have had there. It might not be as good as the real thing, but hold it close in your heart. And maybe my spirit will join you to flit around in these woods."

His other hand came up until he could grasp both my shoulders. "I do not understand. Why do you speak this way? Have you seen something?"

"No, no, nothing like that," I lied, and hated myself for doing so. "I just get morose sometimes when I have bad dreams. I just wanted to make sure you'd always be happy."

"Let us forget the struggles of tomorrow and focus only on the joys of today," he whispered, seeming disturbed by my words.

"But it's night," I grinned, a naughty smile spreading.

He had learned that smile, and one slowly spread across his own features. "So it is, darkness perfect for the cover of many things."

"I can think of a few in particular."

I stepped eagerly into his embrace, determined to push away the fractious future, and enjoy the passions of the present.

Pulling away, I said between kisses, "Promise me you'll build a life and a beautiful colony here. Promise me you'll honor that at least."

"I shall honor your wish. I promise," he easily agreed, his lips trailing up my neck.

And I returned to the passion we'd kindled, smiling in satisfaction that I'd set at least this one thing right and selfishly reveling in what moments of bliss I could steal before the Valar could make good on their words.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry I've been so long since updating, but like I said, September is a crazy month for me. I manage a horse sale for a family friend, and between shooting photos and video, running the websites, producing the catalog, and getting every detail ready for sale day, it's a zoo. Plus I still have to run my own business that I own with my mother. So lots of really short nights until the sale is over. I think when it's through I might sleep for a week!

If you want to see pictures of what I've been up to, check out the link in my profile to my blog, there's even pictures of my new litter of puppies!

But anyway, I've had this chapter done for a while. When I got part way through it, I actually realized how close I was to finishing the story, so I've gone ahead and finished writing it. So the good news is, it's all finished and just needs more editing and then for me to find the time to post the rest of it.

Thanks so much everyone, and as always, let me know what you think!


	12. Beyond This Land of Parting Censored

**A/N: **This is the censored version of this chapter. The other version isn't a lot longer, and it's not really that explicit, but if you haven't read the uncensored version of chapter 7, then part the uncensored version of this chapter won't make a lot of sense, it's been edited with the assumption in mind that the reader hasn't read the uncensored version of chapter 7. Also, I'm trying to adhere to this sites rule about adult content so hence the censored chapter.

But if you do want to read the full version of this chapter, just go to my bio page to find the links. There are links to my blog where I keep all of my fanfiction, a there's a link to LotRfanfiction dot com. It's a great site with just LotR fanfiction as well if you've never checked it out. And please, if you do check out the uncensored versions elsewhere, be sure to either leave me a review there, or come back here to leave one.

Thanks, and enjoy: The Final Chapter!

**Chapter 12: Beyond This Land of Parting (Censored)**

Legolas jogged ahead of me, tugging on my hand to pull me along behind.

But my free hand ran searchingly over my hair and braid again as I asked, "Are you sure I got all the twigs and leaves out of my hair?"

He slowed and glanced back at me over his shoulder, a smile lighting his face as his pale blue eyes twinkled happily in the early light of dawn. "I am certain," he assured me. "But come, the army shall move soon and we have yet to pack."

I picked up my pace, passing him, and tugging on his hand as I chuckled, "You were the one who said we had time for one more." He merely laughed in that tinkling, musical way of elves, so I told him, "Remind me to teach you the art of the quickie, not that I'm against your thorough methods, but sometimes haste is best."

"'Quickie?'" he repeated, his brows drawn together.

I paused as we came into sight of the army's sentries. "Yeah, think of it as a race to the finish line. First one to cross wins," I whispered suggestively.

His face tilted contemplatively and I laughed again, tugging him onward. "We _definitely_ don't have time now."

The sentries looked startled as we jogged past, but made no comment as we sailed by and on to where our empty bedrolls still lay.

We were just kneeling by them to roll up our blankets when Gimli snorted one last time and woke.

"Mornin', Lad, Lassie," he greeted loudly through a yawn.

I was glad the other soldiers were already awake. Gimli seemed to do very little quietly.

We both answered his greeting, but kept packing.

"What's that on yer neck, Lassie?" Gimli suddenly asked. "And on yer chest, Lad … oh. Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly stuttering in a flustered manner. "I—ah—well, it's really none of my business," he groused, his cheeks under his beard brightening. "Maybe this dwarf _does _sleep too soundly," he whispered to himself. Which meant that we still heard him clearly.

My head jerked down, but I couldn't see my own neck; yet glancing over at Legolas, I saw that there were reddish teeth marks visible on his collarbone where his tunic hadn't been tied all the way yet. He fingered the mark and looked up at me, his hand reaching out to finger whatever mark was on my neck.

"_I _did this?" he whispered, shame highlighting his expression.

The skin under his fingers felt smooth, so I could only assume what it was. "It's only a hickey. My pale skin means I'm really susceptible to those marks, but they fade," I assured him in a careful whisper. "Besides, I'm the one who bit you. Again," I apologized back.

He shrugged. "Truly I had not noticed the mark until now; it does not pain me, and indeed at the time pain was far from my mind."

I felt a blush creep in at his easy discussion of our intimacy, and turned back to Gimli.

"We, ah … went … for a walk, Gimli," I tried to explain to the dwarf.

He cleared his throat. "Of course, of course, Lass. And were quite apparently attacked by some creature in the forest which was bent upon suckin' the flesh from yer neck."

I felt my cheeks heat more and my jaw drop. "I really regret breaking open this side of you, dwarf," I grumbled. "If I wasn't against picking on little people I'd do something about it."

He picked up his blanket as he walked past us. His initial embarrassment apparently long gone. He paused behind me as he rumbled near my ear, "Ya have bits of twig an' leaves at the bottom of yer braid, Lass."

I yanked my braid over my shoulder to see that there were indeed bits of twig and leaves stuck to the ends of my hair, shooting Gimli and even a certain chuckling elf a dark look as I did so.

"I thought you said I got it all?" I sweetly asked my elf.

He wasn't fooled by my tone, but still moved closer to pick the twigs and leaves out. "I thought you had," he chuckled.

I stood with my bedroll in hand and saccharinely told him, "And I didn't realize that you had grass and dirt stains on your ass." As he looked himself over, trying to see the faint marks in his dark green leggings, I turned to go find my gelding.

"'Ass?'" he repeated, still finding nothing.

I lowered my barriers and pictured his dirty derrière, looking over my shoulder and laughing as he caught my thoughts and stared back at me with a startled look before he twisted his torso to see the dirty streaks.

And I was still chuckling, despite the curious glances of the soldiers as I made my way to the horses.

* * *

In the days to come, we continued riding northward through the forests of North Ithilien. The grayish, ash covered peaks of the Ephel Dúath rose in a stark backdrop to the forest.

Legolas—and of course, Gimli—and the twins rode ahead of the vanguard in those days to scout the path of the army, and I chose to ride with Legolas as well, suddenly feeling loath to be parted from him for even a moment. I wasn't sure if it was the simple fact that we were married now—though I'd certainly never felt that need with my first husband—or if it was some more pressing fear that kept me near him.

The warnings and threat of the Valar were nearly ever-present in my mind, and I didn't know if—or more likely, when—they would try to force me back to my own world. So I knew that was part of my burning need to spend every moment I could with Legolas. But there was something more. A deep ache lit in my chest at the mere thought of parting from him. I wondered if perhaps it had to do with the newness our mating and would fade in time, but had no way of knowing for sure since two beings like we had never bonded before.

But whatever the reason, I found myself surprisingly happy with my decision to scout ahead with Legolas. With four horsemen scouting, the twins were often able to take one side of the road through Ithilien, and Legolas, Gimli, and I were able to take the other. Legolas had by far the best senses, but Gimli was surprisingly observant at reading a trail and observing even small changes in the surrounding forest. My skills didn't match either elf or dwarf, but I lowered my barriers often to check the surrounding woods for Orcs or a trap.

I always felt more at ease when I had a purpose and a useful task to perform, but I had to admit that I loved the chance to enjoy Legolas and Gimli's company when there weren't some six-thousand soldiers watching our every move and always trailing behind us.

Even Legolas seemed more at ease in his element with a task to perform. More of his fears and worries about what lay at the end of this march seemed to fade from him as the three of us talked and joked with each other.

For a long time I had realized I felt a closeness to Gimli that I didn't quite feel with the other members of the Fellowship. And I would be forever thankful for the solidarity and care he'd shown me in Rohan when I had thought Legolas lost, but I felt a closer friendship now with him, one that I'd never had before, not even in my former world.

And for his part, Gimli seemed completely at ease talking and bantering with both Legolas and I, though I knew from experience how awkward it could be as the third wheel to a married couple. A part of me almost ventured to think that Gimli could have been like a brother to me, but having never had siblings of my own, I wasn't sure if what I felt for the dwarf was that kind of kinship, or merely strong friendship. Whatever it was, I counted myself just as blessed for it as I did for finding and having the love I shared with Legolas.

"I'll admit this would be a fair forest," Gimli was saying as we rode, "if not for the bitter ash the Orodruin covers the land with."

Legolas seemed inclined to agree, but I shrugged.

"I'll agree it's not exactly a pretty sight, but that volcanic ash will make this forest and the surrounding area extremely fertile," I told them.

"While that is true," Legolas admitted, "I would not say that such proximity to any of those lands is a safe prospect. I should rather see the beauty of this forest not held in the shadow of those dark lands."

"Well, I'll grant that being so close to an active volcano isn't exactly a safe endeavor. I never was one of those thrill-seekers who liked tempting fate and climbing around active volcanoes. I always thought a good rule of thumb was to only climb volcanoes and mountains that I knew were completely dormant. I'm not particularly fond of tempting fate."

"'Rule of thumb?'" Legolas repeated. "I have often found many of your turns of phrase to be odd to my ears, but some I am able to puzzle out. This I cannot. What does it mean, and how does one's thumb apply to this discussion."

I burst out laughing at his confusion, wiping a tear from my cheek as I pulled a dancing Lightfoot back under control underneath me. Even the poor gelding had been startled by my sudden laughter.

"I'm sorry," I apologized to both Legolas and Gimli as they stared at me. "I just never stopped to think how that phrase would seem so strange, or I guess any of the words and phrases from my old world. Most of them are just phrases we use without thought and everyone knows what they mean in my world."

I stroked Lightfoot's mane to calm him as I stopped to think how best to explain things. "Well, rule of thumb basically just means a quick broad rule to apply to some situation."

"But how does a thumb fit into this, Lass?"

My smile slipped some. "That's actually a bit harder to explain—well, not harder, but more difficult for you guys to understand how it evolved, I think. It's an old phrase in my world. It originally had to do with using the width of your thumb as a means of measuring wood and such." Both dwarf and elf nodded at this, easily able to understand the practicality of it. "But it came to be used as a rule, supposedly; or I guess, common law, in a time when women in my world were seen as no more than the property of their husbands. And while it was perfectly acceptable to beat your wife, they _did_, I guess, frown on excessive beatings, so the common law said you should beat your wife with a stick no larger around than your thumb. And somehow the phrase evolved from that as well."

Legolas and Gimli both looked dumbfounded at that.

"Surely you kin'na be sayin' that the men of yer world were actually so beastly as to beat their wives," Gimli gaped.

I nodded once. "Yep. Not all of course, even in those days, many were very honorable and wouldn't actually _beat _their wives, but it was perfectly acceptable and quite commonplace to hit them or at least slap them. The women of my world, at least parts of my world, have made great strides to come from that time to being mostly equals to men."

My husband continued staring at me, his shock and horror at such practices evident in his face. "Is this why you have made such efforts to not be seen as the other mortal women of this world, and have showed your disdain for the practice of mortals' marriages in this land?"

"No, it's not that I feel disdain for how marriage works in this world, but at the same time, having seen a lot of what I described in my own, I can't help but feel leery about any culture where a woman can't be the equal of a man. If she can't be an equal, it's too easy for her to be subjugated as little more than a slave, and certainly no more than a victim in many cases," I argued.

"Ya think the men of this world would so abuse their womenfolk?" Gimli incredulously asked. "Kin ye imagine Aragorn or any of his Rangers treating their wives that'a way?"

I sighed. "No. I honestly can't see them doing that. But you guys have to admit that there is still likely some of that kind of thing happening in this world, and that it's probably ignored as not being anyone else's business. And even if it's not physical beatings, that a lot of males probably see their wives as little more than mothers for their children and cooks and maids for their homes. I bet a lot of males don't see their wives as equals or give their words or opinions any actual consideration."

Very deliberately, I'd said "males" instead of "men," and surprisingly, both seemed to take my words seriously and consider them instead of outright dismissing them.

When neither spoke for some time, I finally said, "Puts a different perspective on the cultural disparities of this world and at least the country I came from, doesn't it? I'm not saying mine was prefect, but I'd rather see the females of this world become equals to their counterparts, but I also know that kind of change isn't something that happens overnight."

Gimli finally nodded. "I kin understand yer words, Lass, though I'd never considered the differences in how we treat our own lasses. In truth, I think they demand a bit more equality from us than females of men do, but I kin see that ye are correct in that we don'na always put the same consideration into listening to what our female's opinions might be. I kin'na think of a time when a dwarf would readily ask a dwarven lass what she thought about mining for a particular kind of gem or where to place a shaft for a mine. Our lasses don'na take to much cosseting, but truthfully, they mostly hold themselves apart from the rest of us, an' we let 'em be."

Legolas nodded. "I can see the truth in my own kindred as well. Ellith are not strictly forbidden from joining in the pursuits of ellyn, but rarely do they do so, and ellyn apparently act as dwarves in that they do not often seek the thoughts or advice of ellith in our own pursuits. Each deals nearly exclusively in their own realms and do not interfere or often share the scope of their own purview."

"And that's how my country used to be, and a lot of my world still is. Menfolk do their own thing and leave womenfolk to do theirs, and don't share in each other's struggles and burdens," I added.

Legolas reached across Arod to grasp my hand. "It is well you feel such ease with discussing such things with me, for while I never have had any intention of you not being my very equal, I can see how I might have unintentionally done just as you say and treated you as such that you might have felt otherwise. Indeed, I see even more clearly how my decision for you to remain in the city was demeaning to the ideal that we are equals. Forgive me."

I squeezed his hand. "I know this world is not the same as the one I left, and I'm trying to get used to the differences. I know it's gonna take time for you adjust to my own differences, too, but this one thing is something that I don't think I'll ever be able to let go of. I'm a feminist at heart."

"'Feminist,'" Legolas slowly repeated. "An apt appellation I suppose, and fitting. Thank you for your telling. It explains much about your own world and culture."

Laughing, I returned my hands to my reins and turned back to our task. "And to think this all started because of a simple phrase with an origin I haven't thought about in years."

And I ruefully wondered what conversations would be started from other common idioms from my world.

* * *

I slept little at night. Every time I did manage to fall asleep, I would have the same haunting dream that had plagued me after I had returned to Chicago from my imprisonment in North Korea. I would frantically wake up in my apartment, convinced none of it was real and that I hadn't really escaped my cave. At times, I would sit for hours on the fire escape outside my bedroom window in the freezing cold and even snow, trying to convince myself that it wasn't all a dream, that I _had_ indeed escaped. But eventually I'd mostly stopped having the dream. At least with that kind of regularity.

So why had the dream returned? Why so regularly now?

And why did it feel so terrifyingly real?

So unable to sleep, I would walk beneath the trees of North Ithilien. And Legolas would walk at my side. I would simply listen as he talked and planned the home and colony he had promised me to build here.

He didn't ask what my dreams had been about, and he didn't try to coerce me into sleeping more than I was able, for which I was grateful. He intuitively sensed that sleep was the last thing I wanted, and pleasantly distracted me with talk and conversations about any and everything else. And it continued to amaze me how well he'd come to know me and what I needed.

As we walked one night near the bank of an icy stream, I paused to look at the scorched bark of a great beech tree. Higher on the tree, the bark was still a clear brownish gray, but the lower part of the tree was blackened and badly burned. I stepped closer, pressing a hand to the scorched and crisp bark of the trunk, stepping over the tall roots that spread across the top of the ground before digging deeply into the soil.

"The tree is badly damaged," Legolas said, standing somewhere behind me, "but with much care could yet overcome such damage. With time and healing, it can yet live and thrive."

I smiled faintly at his optimism, but didn't turn to face him as I considered the tree, hoping that he was right and that the tree could still overcome what had been done to it.

"What are you humming?" Legolas asked.

I started, not realizing that I actually had been humming. I turned to face him again and answered, "Just a song from my world. I've thought about it a lot since I met you, but standing looking at this tree just brought it to mind again."

He raised a curious brow and gestured for me to continue. "Please, share this song."

Laughing I said, "I'm not a good singer, Legolas. I didn't inherit that Celtic gift."

Stepping closer, he took my hand and replied, "You sing better than you suppose. You have sung for me before, and you sang for the Fellowship upon the mountain pass."

Knowing I wasn't going to talk myself out of this now, I gave in. I'd always had a bit deeper voice for a woman and my singing voice was better suited to this song anyway, though it was intended to be belted out more than I would be able to in the silence of these woods.

"All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am." *

I stepped forward a I sang more of the song, taking Legolas's hand in mine and trying to show him with my eyes my own sincerity and beliefs in the words of the song, especially as I came to a latter verse of the song.

"You see the smile that's on my mouth

It's hiding the words that don't come out

All of the friends who think that I'm blessed

They don't know my head is a mess

No, they don't know who I really am

And they don't know what I've been through like you do

And I was made for you …" *

I sang the rest of the song quietly, not belting it out like Brandi Carlile had intended, but still trying to embed the same emotion into the song that she had managed, and feeling that no song, poem, verse, or sentiment could better have explained my feelings to Legolas.

When I has finished, we stood in silence for a moment, tears shining in Legolas's eyes, and for one of the few times in my memory, shining in my own.

He lifted my hand and pressed it over his heart. "As you were made for me, I was made for you. Never had I thought to find such happiness nor find my match in a heart so kind, caring, and understanding of my heart and nature. I know not what I have done to be so blessed by the Valar."

I ignored the mention of the loathsome Valar, but realized I'd been blessed nevertheless. I had found someone who understood me so well and who could inspire such happiness in me, even after such nagging nightmares.

Without another word, I stepped closer and lifted onto my toes to press a kiss to his lips, his hands steadying my waist and holding me closer. And soon our passion had risen as we fell to our knees between the tall roots of that great, unyielding, and uncompromising beech tree. For the first time, I pulled Legolas down to cover me, letting him take complete control, and following his lead, instead of leading this dance myself.

And I reached up to cup his face, bringing it down to mine while lightly kissing the tender skin of his neck. Even the muscles here seemed taut and strained as he held himself back. Leaning back against the cold ground, I smiled up at him, feeling that no physical place of wood or stone would ever feel as much a home as this did right now. A canopy of trees and stars could forever be my roof if it meant I was home within the circle of Legolas's embrace.

"This is home," I whispered to him, feeling the utter rightness of my words. "Here. Forever. If I'm never allowed anything else in life, I'll hold onto this perfect moment forever and know I've had more than most people ever taste."

"We will have many more perfect moments," he promised in a lust-laden voice.

A part of me said it wouldn't be so. That nothing would again be like this moment, and I knew I would have to ingrain every detail into my memory. But this one perfect moment would be enough. It would sustain me. It was indeed more than most people ever sampled.

"I wish the story could end here," I gasped as Legolas kissed my neck, threading my fingers through his hair. "I want it to be a happy ending." I laughed and arched my back as Legolas continued laving the skin of my neck, his eyes curious and encouraging as he looked up. "'If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story,'" I quoted. "And I would stop it here so that we're always happy."

He released his hold on my neck and rose up on his elbows to look down at me. "But the story never truly ends. It continues on. And all we can do is ensure that our happiness outweighs all else that shall accumulate on the scales."

I grinned up at him, loving his complete surety that all would be right, and desperately needing to believe it.

"I love you," I whispered to him, laughing lightly at the pleased and radiant smile that met my words, and I vowed to use them more often.

If only I could.

If only our story could have ended here.

* * *

As we rode the next day, Legolas, Gimli, and I again scouted ahead with the twins. We were beginning to find an easy rhythm to our scouting; Elladan and Elrohir again followed one side of the road, while Legolas, Gimli, and I canvassed the other.

We had yet to encounter any problems, but I couldn't help the nagging feeling that something was going to happen. My memory of the smaller, less noteworthy details had begun to slip further and further from my memory. I knew the final great battle would take place at the gate, but I couldn't recall if there had been any battles before that last one.

Worry overtaking me, I lowered my barriers completely, and let my awareness of the forest and surrounding area fill my mind. Stretching my telepathy first to the west and our side of the road, I found nothing. But then I bent my mind on the eastern side of the road, and was met by many dark and eager minds, both human, and what I'd come to recognize as the minds of Orcs, rudimentary though they were.

"What is it, Elaina?" Legolas asked, riding closer and gently grabbing my elbow to steady me as I swayed in the saddle.

I shook my head and carefully raised my barriers before I answered Legolas. "Trap. There's a trap ahead. Orcs and Easterlings are laid out in the foothills to the east."

"Are ye certain, Lass?" Gimli asked.

"Yeah. I can sense them waiting for the army to come along," I answered with an assured nod.

Legolas rode closer and instructed Gimli to ride with me. "I shall ride in that direction and warn the sons of Elrond, as well as get a better look at where the trap is laid," he urgently added.

I held my hand out to help Gimli uneasily scoot from the rump of Arod to the rump of my horse.

"Please be careful, Legolas. Don't go any closer than necessary," I warned him.

He smiled, saying with a look that he didn't find my worry annoying or bothersome, but rather found it cute and endearing. I wasn't sure which was worse.

"I shall ride with the sons of Elrond," he again assured me. "Three elves shall not be caught unawares in simply scouting the area."

I had no argument. We needed to know the layout of the ambush, and I didn't speak the language of the Easterlings to get it by listening to their thoughts. I could get direction at best, but no details. Besides, he was right. The elves were better suited to the task than anyone else was.

"Be careful," I again warned, and watched him ride quickly east through the trees on Arod.

"Come, Lass," Gimli advised. "We must take warning back to Aragorn an' the rest of the army."

It didn't take long to ride back to the army and deliver our discovery. And before long, the army had caught up to where the three elves waited.

The ambush was small. Not near a match for the numbers of the soldiers marching with our army, though it had been well laid out to take advantage of the land and sloping foothills to conceal their small number.

I barely had time to use my sword before the skirmish was over; even Gimli still riding behind me was bemoaning the fact that he'd barely swung his axe before the small force was dispatched.

"They could'na thought to do much damage with so small a number," Gimli pondered behind me. "Even had they still kept the element of surprise, they would'na put a dent in this army."

I somberly nodded once. "They're playing the same games we are," I replied to the dwarf. "Tying to lull us with their supposed weakness and draw us closer to where there's a much bigger force waiting."

"Shouldn'ya warn Aragorn, Lass?" Gimli hesitantly asked.

"No," I quickly answered. "We're trying to lead Sauron into that same trap. Get him to send that great army to face us, and hopefully give Frodo the time and space he needs." I glanced to where Aragorn was conferring with the other lords as well as Gandalf and the three elves. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Aragorn realizes it anyway. Gandalf at the very least."

"Maybe, Lass. Maybe," Gimli slowly agreed. "But this dwarf will still feel better when it's all said an' done."

"Me, too, Gimli. Me, too."

* * *

From that night on, the Ringwraiths circled high overhead. I couldn't see them, even with my improved vision—only Legolas could see so well against the black sky—but I could feel their oppressive weight as they harried our army, their shrieks ringing in the night.

A sense of overwhelming dread and despair was spread in their wake, the men feeling the terror and dark menace of those creatures and steadily losing heart. Truth was, I was losing heart as well, as well as the sense of dread in my heart growing until I gave up even trying to sleep, but my resolve remained unchanged despite my dread.

On the sixth day's march from Gondor, the living lands came to an end. At the sight of the wasteland yet to march through, many of the men lost their resolve and could not continue on.

Aragorn offered to those men the chance to redeem their honor by marching south-west to Cair Andros, a ten-mile long, fortress river-island, to retake it from the enemy. It was a strategic defense along the Anduin and the only other crossing along the river for Gondor's armies.

Many of those men seized their chance to redeem themselves in a manner they deemed possible, but some men again found the heart to continue with the main army into Mordor.

Legolas glanced wistfully at me, but by neither action nor deed, did he ask me to part from my path. And I offered no word of apology for facing this duty in the same head-on manner as him.

But Legolas and I didn't slip away from the army to have time alone anymore as we had under the trees of North Ithilien, either, instead staying close to the safety of the main force.

* * *

The last night of our march was cold and dreadful. Wisps of smoke were rising from within the very ground and eerily filling the sky and clouding what little moonlight there was as howls called all around us, the sound setting hair on end. None of the army would find any sleep that night, instead gathering around what fires of dead wood and debris that could be found. No one said that this would be our last night before marching to the gate. No such words were needed.

Indeed, very little words were spoken by any. Men gathered around fires with friends and comrades that they had known from childhood and served with through the long war. Some men sat enjoying the last moments of new friendships that had been forged on the march. Friendship that even formed across the boundaries of country as men of Gondor and Rohan alike sat together.

But at another smaller fire, I sat with Legolas on one side of me, and Gimli on my other. Aragorn, Gandalf, Pippin, Beregond, Imrahil, Éomer, Halbarad, Elladan, Elrohir, and a few other rangers and Rohirrim rounded out our circle.

Some of the men—and a hobbit and dwarf—sat quietly smoking pipes as they stared into the flames. Others merely sat in silent contemplation.

I stared enviously at the pipes of the others, then withdrew my silver cigarillo case—one of my few remaining belongings from my world— and removed my very last honey-flavored cigarillo.

For a moment, I simply stared at the thing in my hand, briefly considering saving it for another time. But what if there wasn't another opportunity?

"I guess it was meant to be," I suddenly said to no one in particular, staring at that last thin, dark brown cigarillo. "Either a person can look at things and say that nothing is destined to happen in specific ways, and spend the rest of their lives fighting against the current trying to prove themselves right, or they can just give in to fate, and accept that some things turn out how they were meant to in the end, no matter what a person does. But I think it's easier to place your trust in fate than not."

I removed my Zippo and quickly lit my cigarillo, enjoying the smooth and slightly sweet taste of the slightly pungent smoke. When I looked up, I saw that the others around the fire were staring at me, some confused by my words, but some seeming contemplative.

"Is that your answer for us all, my lady?" Imrahil asked, and I decided to for once ignore the "lady" part of his words. "Should we all give in to fate and accept whatsoever should happen on the morrow?"

"No," I thoughtfully answered, shaking my head slowly. "That's not exactly what I'm saying. I'm not saying don't fight for the things you want, instead letting the chips fall where they may. I'm saying fight like hell to make happen what you believe in. But also believe that fate is going to be on your side if it's meant to be. And if it isn't, at least you'll know you went out fighting for what you believe in."

Gandalf chuckled as he pulled his pipe away from his mouth to speak. "At times your simplicity of beliefs seems so very young and naïve, and yet you continue to astound me with your utter and vast sight of the world."

I glanced at Legolas and then looked back to the wizard. "I can't control what will happen tomorrow or any day after. I can only fight for what I want and trust that the Valar won't screw us over in the end."

Legolas gripped my hand tightly beside me, and I reached out to grasp Gimli's hand with my other. For the first time, I had a family.

And I would fight like hell to keep it.

* * *

We stood before the Black Gates on the Morannon, staring at the closed steel of the doors with the desert wasteland stretching all around us. These lands felt utterly dead to me, and I briefly wondered how they seemed to the elves.

Only the Nazgûl were present to stare down at our army. Seeming like ravenous wolves, waiting for their prey to make an interesting move so that they could have the pleasure of the chase. But there was no other sign of the Enemy.

Our army remained as silent as they had through the night, but so too did the Enemy. I hated the silence and the waiting. I felt that it was scratching at my throat and choking me.

When the others rode forward to the gate, I too rode with them. Unable to remain in the backdrop this time. I had thrown all my chips in, as they say, and I would fight to the bitter end to fortify the hand I'd been dealt and try to win my pot.

The heralds stood before us and shouted up to the gates. "Come forth! Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongly he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then and for ever. Come forth!"

I stood beside Legolas, my hand clasped in his as the Mouth of Sauron came out and taunted and derided both Aragorn and Gandalf. It was a living man—or as close to one as it could still be—but the dark menace clung to him as it did to the Nazgûl, forcing me to drop my head and close my eyes, letting the hood of my cloak shield me as I concentrated on reinforcing my defenses against the strength of that dark evil. Flames seemed to dance and curl around his mouth and eyes, and everywhere putrid wounds festered and bled dark, old blood. Even his black horse was as he, seeming to be an ever-festering wound of pus and dead blood.

I hadn't been wearing my bullet-proof vest on the march, only my chainmail, but Legolas had insisted I don it today, despite how it now seemed to be cutting off all my air supply as I tried to avoid letting my gaze linger on the grotesque figure, and feeling a slight panic at his menace.

I didn't bother pointing out to Legolas that neither my vest, nor my chainmail would totally protect me from all wounds. We both knew.

I only listened with half an ear to the bantering, and though the Sauron's servant offered terms of surrender, I knew there would be no surrender and no peace to be made with Sauron.

Guilt assailed me when the Mouth of Sauron brought out Frodo's belongings, taunting the company with them, and I considered telling them that Frodo yet lived, but I feared the Enemy discovering that truth before its due time. The timing of events was too delicate to allow even the slightest change at this crucial moment.

After Gandalf had forcefully taken Frodo's belongings back, sending Sauron's servant scurrying away when he revealed himself as the White Wizard, we mounted our horses and returned to the waiting army.

If I had thought Sauron's army would need a moment to gather their forces, I was quickly proven wrong. Drums immediately began sounding as the Black Gates swung open, hordes of Sauron's forces spilling out as though only the gate itself had been holding the tide in.

From within the hills and mountains surrounding the Morannon, waiting armies of Easterlings poured out to encircle us and trap us against the Black Gates with the Ephel Dúath Mountains on the right side, and the Ered Lithui mountains on the left side of the gate.

Aragorn quickly split the army, leading the banner of the White Tree himself upon one hill with Gandalf at his side, the men of Gondor spread around the hill in a circle to fend off the coming force. Upon the other hill and closer to the other mountains, Rohan and Dol Amroth stood together under their banners, likewise forming a circle around the hill and facing the horde.

But in front of the great host issuing from the gate, the sons of Elrond stood beside Imrahil with all the Dúnedain and the best soldiers of Dol Amroth and the Tower Guard. So too did Legolas, Gimli, and I stand. We dismounted our horses, needing cleaner movement for fighting in such close quarters, and awaited that rolling tide that spilled out of the dark lands like water rushing over a lowered dam.

I glanced at Legolas, and he held my eyes for just a second. But in that second was a world of emotions, thoughts, wishes, regrets, and most of all: love. But we neither of us spoke a word, instead, saying with that one look all that we could express, and then turning to face the force of men, orcs, and great foul beasts the likes of which I had never before dreamed of, but knew would haunt them from now on.

Bows were useless in such close-quarter battle, just as fighting on horseback was, so blades were drawn as the battle was joined.

I'd never before seen or experienced such a heated battle. Hardly a step could be taken in any direction without running into either friend or foe.

The battle was so heated and so consuming, that I had to constantly spin and turn to meet the men and creatures attacking from every side. Not even a breath could be taken before another blow would narrowly miss landing somewhere against me.

I'd tried to keep Legolas and Gimli near me, wanting to fight close to them should they need aid, but the battle soon became so chaotic, I didn't know where anyone else was.

After I had pulled my sword free of another Orc, quickly darting back and ducking from the massive hulk of some kind of mountain of a troll, I took a breath and looked around for Legolas and Gimli. Several Rangers were nearby struggling likewise, but I saw neither fair-haired elf nor ruddy dwarf.

_Thunk._ The troll's spiked mace struck the ground to my right, spraying me with dirt as it narrowly missed me. Ducking again, I rolled away as it swung next for my head. The huge troll moved with surprising speed for his size. Almost as soon as he missed his swing at my head, he jerked his arm back, trying to swipe up at my legs and side in and underhand motion, but again, I spun away from it, simultaneously thrusting my sword through the torso of an advancing Orc who would have used the troll's distraction against me.

"Ugghh!" I groaned, spinning to face the Easterling that had thrown a knife low into my side near my hip, just below my chainmail. I left the blade, then striking him with an overhand blow to dispatch him as he struggled to grasp another knife to throw. Yanking the knife out of the flesh of my hip and ignoring the pain, I turned to face the troll again, but wasn't swift enough to turn and see the blow that landed with an exploding pain in my shoulder.

My vision suddenly blackened before coming back into hazy focus, still spinning slightly as pain and nausea battled within me. I shook my head, realizing I was somehow on my knees and my sword was gone. I pushed off the ground to stand again and look for it, but my sword arm gave way, unable to hold any weight.

I glanced down to see that even through my chainmail, the glancing blow of the troll's mace had ruined my shoulder, the puncture wounds and torn flesh running brightly with blood and rendering my arm useless. My chainmail was torn and partially embedded in the flayed flesh of my shoulder as the viscous fluid trailed warmly down to my pained and quivering fingertips.

Lacking any other choices, and knowing the utter futileness of now facing the troll without so much as a sword, I nevertheless used my other hand to grab for the knife strapped at my waist, still determined to fight. I was just slipping it from its sheath as I looked up to see the curved Easterling blade angling unerringly down at my neck.

The blow that would kill me.

The ending of my story.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

* * *

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Cold dampness fills my nose and lungs. The smell and taste of it only too familiar. And heavy dread settles in my heart.

It wasn't the end of my story.

My twisted tale is yet finished.

My shoulder is unmangled—or rather, no more flayed than what has become natural to my state of being.

My eyes do not open.

Why should they? I know where I am.

I'm back.

I never left this place.

It was all a dream.

A fantasy.

Or perhaps the cruelest of tortures.

Far crueler than anything these North Koreans have devised so far. Nothing they've managed to this point has been able to break me. Not the starvation, beatings, whippings, electrocutions, rapes, isolation, or even the drugs they've pumped through me. Nothing they've devised has broken my spirit enough so that I would tell them what they want to know about my country and my military.

But I'm broken now.

And hewed down not by any machination of my captors and enemy.

But defeated by myself. By my own mind and yearnings.

Did they know? Is that why I've been left here alone and forgotten for so long?

Did they know if they waited long enough, my own torturous and tantalizing dreams would do what they could not?

The familiar weight and clammy hide and nails of a rat's feet inch across my bare leg as it sniffs and licks at my skin. Sampling my taste.

I should open my eyes and catch it, little flesh though it shall likely have. My stomach is a hallowed pit. When did they last drop that rancid meat and moldy bread down here? Days? Weeks? More fresh protein would be welcomed. It is impossible to know how long before they decided to throw me more scraps or when I will catch another rat to devour.

But I do not open my eyes. It hardly seems worth the effort now.

The weight of the rat disappears as it scurries away. Perhaps it has decided there is not enough meat on my own bones to be worth the effort.

Or perhaps it, too, is waiting for me to die.

Is that all I have left? I once fought against my captors with every breath. Even when I was forgotten for weeks and months at a time, merely by living and drawing breath, I knew I was fighting their yoke. I wonder now why I ever had. My only reward was torturous dreams beyond my greatest yearnings. Friendship, belonging, home … love.

Had none of it existed?

Had none of _them_? Was _he _nothing but a dream?

Which is the dream? The fantasy of love I'd known. Or this Purgatory I reside in.

Dream or nightmare?

Is there no middle ground in my reality?

I let my eyes open to slits, the yearning to confirm what all my other senses tell me proving too strong. I need to know for sure where I am.

A strangled sound chokes past my vocal cords.

Truly, I am back here. I never left. I never escaped. I never returned to Chicago. It was all dream. My true torture.

I stare at the dark and humid-damp rocks in front of me; it is surprising to me that I do not rail and wail as I might have expected. But that would take anger. And strangely, I find no anger left inside me at this cruel torment and joke. Just cold acceptance. I should have known it was too good to be true.

Perhaps I had all along.

My hand splays out in front of my face on the rocky ground. The fingers and nails are stained by the dirt and old blood of the last meal I'd been quick enough to grab and tear into. My stomach growls, demanding I lick and suck at the flecks of old, dried blood clinging to my fingernails. But I ignore my hunger, rolling onto my back to stare up at the rocky ceiling above most of my hole.

Spider webs glisten as they catch small glimpses of residual light, twinkling almost like the stars I could once recall.

A laugh bubbles upward in my throat, growing and gurgling past my vocal chords. Until it finally erupts through my lips in great cackles.

"You were right, Mother," I whisper to my twinkling stars through shuttering cackles, my throat croaking and hoarse from disuse. "You should never end a story with 'And they lived Happily Ever After,' 'cause those stories sure as hell never tell how it truly ends."

But no tears touch my cheeks as my chest bounces with my dark laughter. No wetness mists my eyes. Because my mother had warned me that no Fairy Tale truly ended with Happily Ever After.

That was never the end.

There was always more to the story. It never truly ends. It always continues on.

And I had known better.

* * *

* _The Story_ by Brandi Carlile – Written by Phillip John Hanseroth

© Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

_Note: _I actually envisioned and created the character of Lane one time while listening to this song, it very much inspired her and her story. I see her most clearly while listening to it, so in the last full chapter of the series, I decided to work it in. Actually, I've laid clues to this song and its lyrics throughout the series and have been surprised no one called me on it! If you've never listened to it, Google it at the very least and check it out. You can at least find YouTube videos that feature it. It's one of my favorite songs to listen to.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's the last actual chapter of this story. This trilogy went faster than I thought it would.

Now hold on! Don't run off yet! There IS a short epilogue to follow this chapter. So stay tuned and check it out when it's posted. You HAVE to read it.

And before I sign off, I will say this, I have laid clues to the ending of this story throughout its entirety. The clues to the ending of this story are there, if you _pay_ _attention to all the words. _

And I like giving the readers the unexpected. I'm evil that way. ;)

But check out the epilogue for the wrap up. It is a DEFINITE, MUST READ!


	13. Author's Note

**Author's Note: Alternate Endings**

Sorry this took so long to get out. I ended up being busier the last couple of weeks than I thought I'd been, so this took longer to get to than I intended. But here it is.

Okay, so I know this is just a note and not a chapter, but there are a few things that must be said and discussed before you continue on to the end of the story.

To be honest, I really wasn't sure just what the response would be after the way I ended the last chapter. I was really envisioning imaginary beheadings and lynchings after how I left the last chapter, so I wasn't one hundred percent sure what direction to take the epilogue. I've actually had two _very _different epilogues in mind throughout the series, and have vacillated back and forth between them. But to be honest, I figured I'd have to go with one over the other to keep readers happy.

And before someone says, "Oh, the author should do what they want and what makes them happy and not worry about what the readers think." Well, I just have to say that I disagree with that. For authors, (especially those who publish or hope to publish) it is very much about keeping the readers happy, too. After all, without readers, authors don't get to write for very long. So it is very much about keeping the readers happy as well as yourself.

So I wrote two different epilogues that I could use depending on which way the readers reacted. And I must admit, there wasn't the outcry that I had feared.

So I could go about this in several different ways.

Go with the one epilogue that's probably more realistic and that I had intended from the start of the story.

Or go with the other epilogue that I created in my mind after I'd gotten into the series a ways and came to love my characters as much as I know many of you have. I'll admit there's a part of me that's just a sucker for a happy ending and I couldn't resist writing one for my characters.

But, there is a third option. Why does it have to be either or? Because to be honest, I love both of these epilogues for very different reasons. So who says I can't give you both?

I remember when DVDs were brand new and so much cooler than the old VHS tapes. And I remember one of the first DVD movies I bought advertised an alternate ending and I was so pumped to see just how they could end that movie differently than what I'd seen before.

And how disappointed I was when their "alternate ending" was just a slightly different scene where the movie still ended in the same way. I always thought that was unfair. An alternate ending should mean that the ending is very different from the original that is shown.

So I'm giving that to you. Both endings, which take our character in very different directions.

The first one up will only be first because it _was _my original ending.

The second ending will be the one I came to create later, although I actually wrote it first. It's the "happy" ending to the story.

So the choice is yours. Read the more realistic ending, read the "happy" ending, or read them both and see just how different Lane's life is and could be in both endings.

It's all up to you guys.

When you're done reading, be sure to check out the polls in my bio.


	14. Epilogue: When Honor Dies

**Epilogue: When Honor Dies**

"How have you been?"

I shook my head to clear the stray thoughts away and focused on the squat, turtle-like middle-aged man sitting across from me.

"Fine," I insisted, wishing more than the glass-top coffee table separated us.

He scribbled something in the notepad laid over his crossed knee, his dark wool sweater making a slight scratching noise as he moved. "What have we talked about before? This is a safe environment. You can speak honestly and freely here. I _need _you to speak honestly and freely if you have any hope of getting better," he admonished, his eyes cutting down at me through his half-rimmed glasses.

I pulled myself out of the sinking pit of the plush couch, hating that it sat so much lower than Doctor Whitesell's chair.

"Who says I'm not speaking freely?" I insisted as I paced behind the couch.

Doctor Whitesell scribbled something more in his notepad as he leaned back and tracked my movement.

Indulging in a deep sigh, I calmed myself and forced my body back into the sinking cushions of his ivory couch. "I'm fine," I repeated. "I've been fine for a while now. I just don't understand why I have to keep coming back here and talking to you and dredging things up again and again."

I could see that Doctor Whitesell was about to launch into some undoubtedly long-winded reprimands and recrimination about why I needed to keep coming here, so I spoke first.

"It's normal, you know. People say they're fine all the time. People say they're fine instead of telling everyone on the street who asks them how they're doing every little thing that's wrong. 'Cause no one really wants to hear that anyway. And hasn't that been the point of all this?" I asked, throwing my arms out to encompass the room and its entire palate of the shades of white and cream and modern but impersonal decor. A lot like Doctor Whitesell that way if I thought about it. Very impersonal. "To get back to 'normal,' to get back to healthy and functioning in society?" I continued.

Doctor Whitesell held the pen between his two hands as he spoke, his hands bending down to point at me with the pen suspended between them. "You know we don't like to use the word 'normal,' Lane. We're just trying to help you work through some issues, and yes, as you said, become a healthy, functioning member of society again."

I threw my hands out in exasperation. "Well, I am! So why do I have to keep coming back here where you analyze every inflection of my voice when I say, 'I'm fine' or when I say _anything _else?"

"Are you feeling threatened, Lane?" he asked, continuing to hold his silver pen between his two hands.

The Doc might have thought he was the master of reading body language and at manipulating his own body language, but I saw the glimmer of fear in his eyes and the way he held his body just a bit tenser. The same fear that had been there since our very first session. He tried so hard to act nonchalant and pretend I didn't scare him, but I knew I did. I scared a lot of people.

I forced myself to lean back in the couch and pretended to calmly contemplate him and the question. "No. Why would I feel threatened?" I asked, my voice calm and carefully puzzled. "I'm just explaining that I would like to move on with my life, and I feel that if I have to keep coming back here three times a week to meet with you, I'll never be able to put this all behind me and move on with my life."

He relaxed and I saw the fear mostly leave his eyes.

As good as he thought he was at manipulating body language, I was better.

"And you feel like you are able to move on with your life now? You don't feel like you're in danger of slipping back into the delusions?" he asked, setting the pen down and threading his fingers together as he clasped his hands.

I mimicked the position, carefully leaning back into the couch and rolling my shoulders back as I told him my practiced words.

"Of course that's still a danger. I'd probably be lying if I said that danger was gone forever. Every time I have a difficult day, I think about how much easier it would be to slip into that world again. But I know now that it's not real, and that I can't stay there just because it's easier. I know the difference between that world and this. This life is real and good or bad, I have to stay here and deal with it. I'll probably always struggle with that, but I know now that I can make it in the real world and I can overcome that struggle."

I saw the pleased smile as he nodded his head, his short neck all but disappearing into his sweater every time his chin dipped down. But he smiled approvingly and scribbled again in the notepad. My eyes tracked that notepad, knowing the key to my freedom was under that pad of yellow paper.

"And do you feel like your life is getting back on track, that you're finding some routine and stability in your life?"

Pausing, I pretended to carefully consider my answer. "Yes. I do think I am. Or at least I'm trying my best to. I've got a place of my own, and I've got a job to go to every day. It keeps me busy and gives me something to focus my mind and attention on. I'm grateful for it. I'm very grateful for everyone who has helped get those things."

He nodded with a satisfied smile. "And your job? How's that going?"

My smile stretched a little wider and a little brighter. "Good. Very good. Maybe it's not quite what I would have imagined for myself before everything, but it keeps me busy. Gives me purpose. It's better than sitting around all day obsessing."

"And you're enjoying working at the call center?" he asked, scribbling once more on the notepad. When I nodded, he asked, "Things are staying smooth and steady there?" I nodded once more. "Perhaps I should call your employer again and see how he feels things are progressing," he murmured, more to himself as he continued writing notes.

"Of course," I pleasantly told him. "If you'd like to check up on me, that's fine."

Doctor Whitesell finally looked up from his notes and gave a half-smile. "No. Maybe I don't need to. I can appreciate what you are trying to tell me. That you want to get on with your life and me continually checking on you will just keep holding you back from moving on." He set his pen down and his long, thin fingers absently drummed against the notepad that held my fate.

"You've certainly made remarkable progress," he finally continued with a self-satisfied voice, pulling some papers from beneath the yellow notepad. I nearly held my breath at their sight. "You've finally come to acknowledge the delusions you suffered from for so long, and have made great strides in rejoining society as a functioning member. And you've even managed to be weaned off all your medications. I must admit that I very much doubted this possibility three years ago when they first brought me in to see you on that base. You almost seem like a different woman now."

The practiced smile stretched my lips as I tore my gaze from the papers he now thumbed through. "Of course. I'm not the same woman I was then. It has all changed me, but you've helped me overcome those difficulties and move on with my life. I'll always be grateful for the help you gave me."

"But you want to move on with your life," he repeated, finally setting the papers down against the notepad.

"Yes, of course I do. I need to get back to some normalcy," I easily agreed, reminding myself to breathe in and out.

"And Doctor Cruthers? How does he feel you have progressed physically?" he asked, still not moving to pick up his pen and sign the papers.

At the mention of the other doctor, I successfully fought the urge to curl my body protectively around myself and calmly answered, "That I've progressed as far as I'm likely to be physically able to. The scars will always be there, and my body and my joints will probably always ache, especially when the weather changes. The ligaments and muscles in my shoulders have been repaired as much as surgery can, and they'll probably always be at eighty percent, but I've healed as much as I can."

He nodded and picked up his pen starting to bring it down towards those papers. And then with another satisfied sigh, he signed them and filled out several sections. "Well, I don't see any reason not to sign off on your case. As I told you, I think you've made a remarkable recovery," he said as he stood and walked towards me, holding the release papers out towards me.

I eagerly stood as well, grasping the papers of my freedom with one hand and the hand he held out towards me with the other.

"I don't see any reason why you can't be released from my mandatory care, although I will offer that my door is always open and if you ever feel things are getting tough or if you just need a friendly ear to listen to you, just stop by."

Releasing his hand, I continued my practiced smile and easy tone. "Of course, I'll stop by if things ever get tough, although I'm hoping to keep getting better."

He walked with me through the door. "You remember of course, that we talked about this being something you'll never completely overcome, Lane. It's a struggle you'll face every day. I'd prefer you continue to see me, or at least see someone on a regular basis. I do understand if you don't want to continue seeing the same psychiatrist who saw you at your worst though, so do look through those lists of names I gave you at our last session and at least consider seeing one of them periodically."

My smile stayed in place by my will alone. We both knew the Marines couldn't force me to keep seeing a psychiatrist indefinitely. And that he had had to sign off on my competency at some point. "Sure," I lied. "I've got the list at home and I'll try to find one of them that seems like a good fit."

We parted at the door. Me ecstatic to finally be rid of the good doctor, and him elated with the story of my "success" which he was certain to write about in all the journals to tout his own "success" and fame. But I didn't really care.

I was finally free of him.

* * *

As I hit the cold Chicago air, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell phone, seeing that I had received voicemails while I'd had the thing on silent during my session. Dialing the buttons on the screen, I lifted it to my ear just as the deep voice sounded through the phone.

_"Lane? Where the hell are you? That's four days of work now that you've missed. I can't keep letting this slid. You've been out more days than you've been in to work lately, and you rarely call in anymore. I know I said I'd help you out as a favor to Nate, but I'm done. I've had enough. You're fired."_

I cringed at the mention of my ex, but deleted the message and played the next one.

_"Lane, if you get this, _please _give me a call back. I know you really don't want to see me or hear from me, but I'm trying to help you out. Cal says you haven't been to work in days... Have your delusions started again? You're drinking again, too, aren't you?" Sigh. "Please just call me back, babe, we worry about you."_

"Fuck you, _babe_, and go back to your bitch wife and three kids. I don't need your concern," I growled as I deleted that message as well. I may have told Doctor Whitesell I'd forgiven and forgotten my ex-husband's infidelity and then him marrying my former best friend while I'd been a POW, but reality was a ways from that yet. It was bad enough I'd been indebted to him for getting me the lousy job.

At least I didn't have that problem anymore.

I stuffed the cell phone back in my pocket and kept walking through the cold to my studio apartment, dropping the envelope with my release papers in a mailbox along the way.

At least that part of my life had been freed now, too. But I wondered just how free my life would ever be.

The frigid air of Chicago winter was far from the moist humidity of North Korea, but all the talk of my so-called delusions seemed to transform the air until I could almost smell the damp heat all around me. I'd been thankful to leave that humidity behind after Korea, but the days after were almost more difficult than my captivity had been.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The walls and all the linens and furniture were variations of white. I suppose they were supposed to seem calming. But after years in the monotony of dark rock, I yearned for some color. Some vibrancy.

But I suppose they feared it would excite me too much.

Couldn't have that happening again.

"Sergeant Rowan? Did you hear me?"

I jerked my gaze from the room and turned towards the probing voice. A short, squat middle-aged man with thinning brown hair was crouched in front of me.

"I said that I was Doctor Whitesell and I've been brought in to help you," he explained as he readjusted very scholarly looking glasses on his nose.

Ignoring the man who would only sing the same tune as the others, I turned back to looking at the wall and wrapped my arm tighter around my knees. I rocked slightly in my position on the bed. The pain was better than what I'd lived with for so long, but I wondered if the dull ache in my body would ever dissipate. Not even the painkillers they'd given me seemed to help much.

"I'm told they've done extensive surgery on your arm and shoulder in particular, how does it feel?" the little man asked as he began reaching out to touch the arm bandaged and strapped across my midsection.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, springing to my feet on the bed and ignoring the fiery pain so sudden a movement induced.

The little doctor remained in his lowered position, unmoving and seeming unfazed by my sudden movement. My gaze narrowed on him, hating him for fearing me no more than my captors did. What a truly pathetic state I'd been reduced to, that not even a squat little man could fear me.

"I won't touch you, and I won't hurt you" he replied agreeably. I turned away at him thinking I feared him. I didn't. Really. "I just wanted to see how you've been progressing physically. They said you've put on some weight with the IV fluids they've given you, but I can see you could use some more," he added, looking me up and down.

The cringe came automatically as I glanced down at the sickly body I now inhabited. With another grimace, I forced my gaze away.

"I'm pleased to finally hear you speak to me," the little man continued. He gestured back down at the bed. "Perhaps you'll sit back down and speak more with me."

Backing up, I moved away from him until my back hit the wall. I would have remained standing, but my legs shook from the pain and effort of standing even that long, so I slowly collapsed back onto the bed, watching as the man drug a chair over to the bed and sat in it.

"That's better," he cheerfully said. "Would you like to talk to me?"

"About what?" I asked, suspicion laced though my words. "I don't know you."

"Ah, but if we talk, then you'll soon know me."

I looked away, my gaze again focusing on the locked doorway barring my freedom. The little man spoke to me, but I didn't care to hear a tune I'd already been sung.

"All right, you may not want to know about me, but I already know a great deal about you," the little man eventually said.

My attention came back to him as he leafed through the papers on his clipboard, his fingers absently twirling a pen.

"You know nothing about me," I lowly growled at the little man—Whitesell, hadn't he said?

He continued leafing through the papers, not bothering to look up at me. "I know quite a bit about you actually," he said, finally looking up as my gaze drifted back to the door. "You were separated from your unit during a village building, peace-keeping mission along the borders of North Korea, captured, and taken across into North Korea. Your unit had thought you killed along with the others killed in the skirmish at the village. You remained a POW for over four years, an impressive display of strength and fortitude I must say, given what you suffered."

I could almost feel his gaze traveling over the unfamiliar and frail body I now inhabited. "I'm not frail or weak," I insisted. "I escaped."

"You even invented an escape where you ended back up in your hometown of Chicago and became a police officer. Just as you had planned to become before you joined the Marines."

"I _did._ I was a cop."

"Then where is this partner you said you had? Where is this Detective Mike Mancini then? There is no Detective Mike Mancini in homicide, or anywhere in the entire police department in Chicago. There never was."

I shook my head. "Mike was real. I knew him. I knew his wife and kids. He was my partner after I escaped from North Korea the first time."

"No," he replied, and I cut my eyes back to him. "That's not what happened. Don't you remember? You were rescued. When the Marines heard stories of a white woman in a North Korean prison, they came to rescue you. Don't you remember? Escaping on your own was just part of your delusion."

My eyes narrowed on him. "I've heard this song before. But I know what happened. Why are you doing this to me?"

He smiled, a faintly disgusting look of sympathy. "This is part of your problem, Sergeant. You're having trouble sifting through the reality you created to deal with your captivity and remembering truth."

"It was real. I know it."

He shook his head and insisted. "It's a fantasy you created to cope, but you've been freed now, and you need to learn how to sift through that fantasy world you created."

I glanced at the locked door. "I'll never be free," I whispered.

"You're only staying here until you get better, Sergeant. You're not being kept here forever."

"It was real," I insisted, looking back at the doctor. "I know it was."

He flipped through his papers before looking back up at me. "You maintained that you were a scout sniper and that you were captured on a mission, but you know that's not right. Don't you remember, Sergeant? You know better. You know woman don't yet hold combat positions. You were in that village in a peacekeeping capacity. You reinvented yourself in your fantasy to explain your capture and make yourself the downtrodden hero, but it was simply an accident of fate that you were captured."

I shook my head. "You know nothing about me."

After another glance at his papers, he continued. "You reinvented yourself in many ways, didn't you? You even remade yourself as more than human in your delusions. Made yourself part-fairy to imagine yourself stronger and even gave yourself special powers; that you were telepathic and could hear thoughts, but you know that can't be true either. You know such things don't exist"

I shook my head and pressed my hand over one ear, turning away from his spiteful words. "You don't know anything."

"Then tell me my thoughts," he challenged.

But I continued to rock and stare at the door.

"You even created a magical escape to a fictional world where you were the star of the story," he went on. "Creating an almost fan made fiction in your mind of Tolkien's world, where you had friends and even love."

My rocking increased. "It wasn't fiction. It was real. It was real."

"You know better, Sergeant. It was an understandable means of escape at the time, but now we need to focus on getting you better."

"You don't know anything!" I hissed, turning back to him. "It was _real_!"

"It wasn't real, Elaina, you know that, and you can see the facets of your fantasy unraveling. Allow them to. Remember what was real and see what was fantasy."

"_Don't call me that!_" I growled. "Don't say that name."

His brows rose at my outburst. "Fine. Lane is what you prefer, so we'll use that. But you must start to understand the reasons your fantasy world could not have been."

"It was. It was real. I'm not lying."

"Then how do you explain somehow becoming a scout sniper when woman aren't allowed into combat positions? How do you explain waking back up in the same prison you inhabited? If it were real, wouldn't you have stayed in that world instead? Why would you have come back to that prison cell?"

I rose to my knees. "I couldn't stay there!"

He leafed through the papers again, not really paying attention to me. "Yes, you said you were going to be killed there in that fantasy world. How was it? A blade to the neck?"

I leapt past the doctor, grabbing the plastic clipboard from his hands and slamming it against the wall. It split into two pieces, and with the jagged edges of one, I held it against the offending man's neck as I stood close behind him, my damaged arm yanked free of its binding to hold his head back against my stomach, his throat bared to me.

"Like this," I whispered in his ear, bending down over him. I pressed the jagged edge against the side of his throat. "The blade was swinging to strike me here, but They couldn't let me die there." The little man trembled beneath my fingers. "Do I seem so frail and helpless now? Am I weak and pathetic?" I whispered in his ear.

The doorknob rattled as someone fumbled with it. Dropping the broken clipboard, I straightened and backed away as several men grabbed me, something sharp pressing into my upper arm.

The little doctor stood, his hand clapped over his neck and fear properly in place. "See," I told him. "You know to fear me now. Just like those North Koreans did when I escaped, just before I killed them."

"It's part of the delusion," he insisted in a croak. "You've killed no one, killing your captors was just part of the fantasy. You've killed no one before."

I felt my body starting to go lax as I shook my head. "No. It has to be real." I felt a tear roll down my cheek. "It has to be better than this life," I whispered before I felt my eyes roll back into darkness.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

I shook myself from the memory and pulled my coat tighter around myself, continuing on my path to my little apartment.

Cold air greeted me when I opened the door to the small studio, but I couldn't bring myself to close the window to the fire escape all the way. Instead, I walked further into my cluttered space and cranked up the space heater, finally sitting down in front of its warm glow at the desk in my apartment. My laptop was still turned on, so I flipped it open and began scouring the internet once more.

Nearly every moment of my sleep since I'd left my prison had been plagued with dreams of what had been. What they told me couldn't be possible, but I knew somehow had to be true. It had been too real to be fantasy.

Every day I sifted through sites dedicated to fictional stories based on Tolkien's world, but I could never find anything that was quite right. Nothing that told the story right or had any of the characters right. None of them had _him_ right.

Too often, I stumbled across stories that were nothing more than self-inserts of desperate girls who wanted to escape the realities of their own lives. But none of them really understood the truth. None of them really got that it was truly out there.

I'd considered several times writing down my own story, but I knew it would just seem like another desperate self-insertion into the story. Just as Doctor Whitesell had insisted. But I knew they weren't delusions or fantasy. They were real. And I'd really been there.

After several more hours of fruitless searching for something that could prove me right, I stood and stretched my back, rubbing at the aches that would never quite leave my body. My fridge was mostly empty, but I dug through the lower shelf and grabbed another bottle of beer.

But after I'd down that bottle, I found that the ache in my chest hadn't quite abated enough. Beer didn't seem to be enough tonight.

The bottle of vodka in my freezer would do the trick though. I briefly considered grabbing a glass, but chose just to carry the bottle with me as I crawled through my window and then up the fire escape, dragging my thick blanket with me.

I preferred being up on the roof instead of been cooped up in the confines of my small studio apartment. An old chaise-lounge sitting out of the direct wind and against the building was my only comfort from the elements other than the blanket I'd brought with, but the bottle of vodka would soon warm me as well.

Here on the roof, I was away from the noise of my neighbors and could block out the sounds of the city as I stared at the stars. Not that any were visible in the glare of the city, but if I squinted my eyes just right, I could imagine how they should be on that dark canvas. How they'd been in that other world.

I angrily drank another swig of vodka. Everyone kept telling me that world wasn't real. That it never had been. But I couldn't stop dreaming of it. I couldn't stop the vivid memories I had of that place. _Such vivid memories and recollections couldn't be hallucinations. Could they? They all had to be wrong. _

_Or was I?_

* * *

The pounding on my door met me as I crawled back into my apartment through the window. I didn't know how long the pounding had been going on, but I didn't need to open the door to know whom it would be. Only my landlord, Bruno, could pound on a door that hard, and that nonstop for so long.

I hurriedly changed my clothes as the pounding continued, punctuated every so often by the shouts of, "Open the goddamned door, Lane, and pay your rent! You're overdue!"

Once I was dressed, I grabbed the open envelope of money from my desk drawer, shuffling through the paper money as I counted the bills. There was just enough to pay Bruno my rent, but then I'd have none left over.

Shoving the money in my pocket, I crawled back out the window onto the fire escape.

Bruno could wait a few more days until I got my next military pension check.

I needed that money right now more than he did.

* * *

"Lane?"

I stopped and turned to face the familiar voice calling my name.

Nate was standing on the stoop to the front door of my apartment building, the dirty swinging glass door still held open by one of his hands. I paused at the corner of the building where I'd come out of the alley, seriously considering whether or not to turn and walk away.

But I knew my ex, and he knew I'd seen him, so he'd only chase me down.

While I waited for him to jog over to me, I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and my Zippo, lighting one while my former husband scowled and closed the distance. His long coat didn't hide the suit beneath, and I absently wondered just what kind of meeting he'd come from or was headed to. Maybe a meeting with the police commissioner. Not that I cared anymore. His career advancement had ceased to matter to me a long time ago.

When he'd reached me, his hand swung out to knock the cigarette from my mouth, but I deflected his hand automatically.

"I take it you don't want one," I told him as I blew out a long smoky exhale.

"Those things will kill you," he fired back.

That actually did bring a morbid smile to my face.

"Wouldn't want to do anything dangerous now," I laughed. "Always lived such a safe life before this cigarette."

He glanced away uncomfortably. "You look like shit."

Nate knew I hated the pity in his eyes, but that averted gaze said the same thing, so I continued down the street while I drew in another inhale of the pungent smoke.

"You always were such a damned charmer," I drawled.

He hurried to catch up with me. "Come on, Lane. What the hell are you doing? You look like you slept in your clothes, your eyes are bloodshot, and your pores are leaking Scotch."

"Vodka," I corrected. "You'd think after seven goddamned years of marriage you'd remember what I prefer to drink."

He gave a frustrated huff as he ran a hand through his hair carefully styled brown locks. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. You smell like a distillery. And when the hell did you start chain smoking? It was bad enough when you smoked the occasional cigarillo. Are you trying to slowly kill yourself?"

I laughed darkly but didn't slow my stride. "Cigarettes are cheaper than cigarillos, and smoking calms my nerves." I stopped to face him, my ex nearly skidding to match my sudden halt. "And if I do decide to kill myself, you asshole, you can damn well bet I'm not going to go about it slowly," I angrily told him, jabbing a finger at his chest to punctuate my words.

He held up his hands in surrender, but his face drew into a mask of concern.

"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you, Lane?"

I let out a disgusted snort. "Why? Your little conscience still worried about my fate? Don't. What happens to me is no longer any of your concern. We're not married anymore, so you don't have to feel guilty about me now. Just run along back to your little wife."

Spinning on my heel, I began angrily stalking away. But Nate never did know when to leave things alone.

"Dammit Lane, that's not fair and you know it. I don't worry about you because I feel guilty, I worry about you because we both still care about you," he argued as he caught up to me.

At least he knew better now than to mention her name. Bad enough that my husband had cheated on me and ditched me the first chance he got, but I'd never forgive her for sleeping with and then marrying her best friend's husband. Some things should just be below any kind of friendship and any kind of woman.

He huffed again when I merely ignored him and continued walking. "At least let me buy you breakfast and talk, Lane, I'm guessing you haven't eaten anything today. You look like you've been drinking your meals again anyway," he said as he grabbed my elbow to pull me to a stop. I jerked it away but did stop to face him.

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to sit and talk. Try to figure out what the hell you're doing with your life," he answered.

"Because of guilt," I stated.

"Dammit, not because of guilt, because I still care about you and what you're doing to yourself." But as he spoke, his eyes wouldn't quite meet mine.

I stepped closer and pointed at his chest, my gaze seeing the slight dilation of his pupils. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't keep coming around because you feel guilty about sleeping with my best friend even before that last time I was shipped out. And tell me you don't feel guilty about marrying her less than two months after they declared me dead."

Silence hung between us. And he still couldn't meet my eyes.

"I wanted children," he whispered. "You didn't."

Stepping back, I threw my arms out wide. "Well congratulations! You got three of the little brats and I got four years in Hell. Came out one ahead of you in the score, didn't I?"

"Jesus," he raggedly sighed.

We stood like that for another few moments.

"I _do _still care about you," he insisted, visibly steeling himself and meeting my gaze. "Just let me buy you breakfast and talk."

I could lie and tell myself that I was going to have breakfast with him because he really did still care. I could even lie and tell myself that I was letting him buy me breakfast since I couldn't remember when the last real meal I had was.

But the truth buried deep down was that I was letting him buy me breakfast because I was so lonely for company, I wouldn't even turn down company that came from a man I mostly despised.

"Fine," I replied. "There's a little diner just down the block that serves breakfast all day. Hopefully you won't mind their coffee too bad."

Turning, I silently led the way.

* * *

We mostly ate in silence. Nate asked about why I'd stopped going into the call center, but I'd simply replied that I hadn't liked the job. He offered to get me a different one, but I didn't want to go down that path again.

"If you'd just clean up your act, I bet I could even get you a job at the department. A desk job wouldn't be so bad, or maybe you could pass the physicals well enough to at least be out on dispatch," he offered.

I ignored it like I always had. I wasn't interested in explaining that I'd already been a cop once or trying to find where Mike was. He was the only partner I could imagine having again.

"What's Doctor Whitesell say about you losing this job?" Nate asked.

"Nothing," I answered as I polished off my omelet and picked up my last piece of toast. "He signed off on my paperwork. I'm free and clear of him."

Nate's eyebrows shot up as he swirled the coffee-like swill in his cup. "He signed off on your case? He really thinks you're ready to stop therapy?"

"Sure. Don't I look like it?"

He snorted and leaned back in his side of the booth. "You always were damn convincing when you wanted to lie and make someone believe something. Too damn smart for your own good."

I mimicked his body language, leaning back and crossing my arms. "Pot calling the kettle black I'd say. I seem to remember believing you when you said you'd only ever love me."

His hands shot up in surrender again. "Enough. Enough. I'm tired of having this same fight with you and I'm tired of apologizing. It's done and I can't take it back. I'm just saying that it seems pretty obvious that you should still be seeing him."

"Why?" I angrily bit out. "It's every other American's God given right to drink themselves into stupors. Why the hell should that squat little turtle get to tell me what I can and can't do? You either. You're not my husband anymore."

He slapped a hand down on the table. "Dammit, Lane! I feel like all I ever do is argue in circles with you. I'm tired of watching you destroy your life. Is it the delusions again? Is that it?"

I leaned over the table and lowly ground out. "Well it ain't your job to hang around any longer. No one's forcing you to watch."

Standing, I yanked my jacket back on and began striding past the booth, only to be stopped by Nate's hand on my arm.

"What is it you want out of life, Lane? What is it that even keeps you getting up in the morning?" he asked in desperate tones.

I paused, and found myself answering almost against my will. "To be free of this world. To find a way out of here. That's the only thing that keeps me hanging on."

Shaking off his grip, I silently strode out of the diner.

* * *

"You're sure you don't know of any way or any spell to send people to other worlds? Other dimensions?"

The old lady shook her head. Dropping the heavy Welsh accent she'd had before, she said in clear Midwestern tones, "Look, spells and magic like that just aren't real." She gestured around her magic shop. "This is all for tourists, honey. You're obviously a smart enough woman to realize that, and I can see the desperation in your eyes, so I'm not going to lie to you and sell you trinkets like I do the tourists. You need to give this obsession up."

My eyes narrowed as I took an angry step back. "I'm sick of everyone telling me what's real and what isn't. I know it was real. And I just need to find a way back to that world."

She shook her head again, her gray wispy hair swinging around her face. "You're old enough to know better, girl. This world is it. Stop this foolish, desperate search. Magic isn't any more real than all those other notions you have about fairies or other dimensions. Stop looking and wasting your time."

She turned and walked back into the back part of her shop before I could stop her or argue further. So I turned and walked back out into the cold once more.

Dejectedly walking out of yet another supposed magic shop, I pulled the crumpled Yellow Page papers from my hip pocket and crossed another name off my list. I'd scoured through the listings trying to find just one that wasn't full of charlatans. Just one that had actual real magic and wasn't full of cheap tricks for the naïve and tourists. But so far, I was coming up empty.

I couldn't even find the old gypsy woman who had initially cursed me and caused me to end up in another world. It was almost as if she'd vanished. Or never existed. But I knew she had. She had to be out there somewhere. Or at least someone else who could do what she did.

Again walking down the street, a bar next to my latest bust caught my eye. I considered continuing my search, but it had been a long day. And the sun was just setting. What would it hurt to go in and get just one beer to warm up?

It was a lie. I knew that much. One would turn into several, until either my cash was gone or the bartender would serve me no more, or until welcome oblivion greeted me once more. But that oblivion was so tempting, and so I stuffed the Yellow Page ads back in my pocket and stepped inside the stale air of the bar.

Several shots and a few beers into my night, a woman sat down at the bar beside me. I'd chased several men away with no more than the dead stare my eyes held, but a woman sitting beside me was a first.

Still, she held no interest for me, so I signaled the bartender for another shot. He eyed me warily, and I knew he was gaging how many more he'd let me have.

"You have a bad war?" the woman asked next to me.

I glanced at her, wondering how she even knew I had been military.

She pointed an olive toned finger at my chest. Following the gesture, I saw my dog tags resting outside my shirt.

"Something like that," I told her, lifting my shirt to shove the dog tags back under it.

"Your service was honorable," she insisted. "It's too bad you've come back so damaged. You should have faith in yourself."

My eyes tracked back to her again, only to find her penetrating eyes staring at me as though she saw right through me. Or worse, that she saw into me and all that I was. Her olive skin tone was clear and unmarked, making her age hard to peg. And unruly dark curls of hair flowed all around her. She seemed almost Gypsy-like, but maybe that was just the booze clouding my eyes.

"Faith is lost. Honor is dead," I quietly told her, averting my eyes from that too knowing gaze.

"When faith is lost, when honor dies, the man is dead," she spoke, and I glanced back at the familiar words.

"Maybe I should be," I told her. "Everything's gone. I have nothing here. This world has no place for me."

"Let not the land once proud of him, insult him now," she almost coyly rejoined.

My shot glass slammed down on the bar top. "What the hell?" I demanded.

Her smile softened. "I thought you recognized the poem. You almost quoted part of it. It's from Ichabod by John Greenleaf Whittier.

I stood so fast my barstool tipped over and rolled away from me.

"Who?" I croaked.

"John Greenleaf Whittier. The poet. I thought you recognized it." Her face was puzzled at my sudden outburst.

"Greenleaf," I repeated, my eyes closing against the pain. "I do recognize it," I added, realizing I had indeed spoken those words so similar to the poem. Had my mind recognized it? Had my mind been feeding me these little bits of familiar pieces all along?

Had everything just been a trick of my mind?

I dug in my pocket and threw a wad of bills on the bar. But the woman grabbed my arm as I turned to leave.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked, worry etching lines in her face. "I didn't mean to upset you. You just seemed lonely and lost. I just wanted to see if I could help you or offer a little friendly conversation."

I turned back towards her, feeling a tear spill over my cheek. "You did help me," I told her. "You made things clearer," I added, pushing past her and out onto the snowy sidewalk.

Einstein had once said, "A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?"

Was that really the truth? After years of searching for a way back to that world, after years of my mind insisting it had been real. Was _I_ really the one that was crazy, and not them?

I stumbled my way down the sidewalk, not knowing in what direction I was headed. And not really caring.

If I had thought I was broken before, it was nothing compared to what I was now. I'd lost the last piece I'd been holding on to.

* * *

**A/N: **This one is the more tragic, but probably more realistic ending. I know it's not happy and somewhat leaves things unresolved, but that's just the nature of this ending.


	15. Epilogue: To Honor Wishes

**Epilogue: To Honor Wishes**

I knelt beside the gentle flow of the icy spring, rinsing the dirt from my hands as I absently listened to Gimli's tale of masonry work in Gondor. He spoke animatedly about the great works of his kindred in helping to restore the White City, but stonework had never been the favored realm of most Elven craftsmanship and held little interest for me in particular.

"Are ye well, Legolas?" Gimli suddenly asked.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I realized Gimli had fallen silent for some time before rousing me with his latest question.

"I am well, my friend," I assured him, forcing a smile that I feared lacked any conviction.

"How goes the colony?" he asked, gesturing back through the forest where the unseen buildings of the colony were congregated. The elves of the colony worked busily to finish more housing for the influx of elves moving to resettle in North Ithilien. But in deference to Gimli's unexpected visit, I had chosen to instead replant saplings that had been sent by my father from Eryn Lasgalen to replant the woods of Ithilien, hoping that Gimli would feel he had the privacy to say that which had brought him unheralded to my colony.

"The colony is well. Growing larger than I had imagined as those elves not yet ready to leave for Valinor resettle here," I absently answered, standing to inspect the saplings I had planted near the stream. So much of the forest in North Ithilien had been burned and cut down before and during the War. And what had not burned we were steadily working to see thrive and become healthy once more.

I looked again at the last sapling. I knew that so close to water, the saplings were nearly certain to thrive, but I spoke softly to them in Silvan, encouraging them to put forth their roots and drink deeply.

"Good. Ver'a good," Gimli nodded.

He watched in silence as I inspected the young saplings, his mind obviously intent upon something he wished to say. I could have probed his thoughts for his intentions—for strangely, the gift of mind reading granted from our binding had endured though my mate had not—but I had never come to enjoy the skill and had over the years perfected locking that power away, preferring the quiet of my own mind. I had no envy for the childhood I could imagine my love had been forced to endure because of her burdened skills.

I shook myself from such distracting thoughts of my lost love, returning my attention to the dwarf before me.

"Speak your mind, friend-Gimli, censor not words between such friends as we and speak that which your heart so struggles with," I at last told the dwarf.

He harrumphed loudly, but soon did begin speaking his mind.

"We worry 'bout you, Legolas. Most especially Aragorn an' I. He says ye've not entered the White City yourself since we all departed after his coronation an' wedding. Ye send yer elves to help with restorin' the city, but do'na yourself leave the woods of North Ithilien. It's not healthy, Legolas, to so wholly cut yourself off from yer friends an' bury yourself in work. Had I to guess, I would say none of these elves have the gumption to tell you you're working yourself too hard an' leaving yourself no time for enjoyment. That's not what the Lass would have wanted. She'd of told you herself that the life you're slaving yourself at be no kind of life to live."

I turned away from my friend's admonitions.

"Yet I am keeping my promise to her, my friend," I whispered, though I could not face the dwarf's knowing stare. "I am honoring her wishes that I remain in Ithilien and build the colony she foresaw, and there is much work left to be done to complete her vision."

"Ye know you don'na have to build it all at once, my friend. You be using that as an excuse to remain in these woods lickin' yer wounds. The Lass wouldn'na wanted that," he said, stepping in front of me again, his face grave and the pain as clear in his eyes as it was in my own.

"I _need _to be in these woods," I finally confessed to my friend, realizing he might understand it in a way none of the elves of the colony could. They had not known and loved my wife as Gimli had. "When I walk under these boughs, I can remember the short times we were allowed to walk beneath this very canopy together. Even on our march into those cursed, dark lands, she would take my hand, smile at me, and the problems and worries I harbored in my heart would melt away. We were happy here under the branches of these trees, in a way I knew not was possible. "

I shook my head and stepped closer to one of the tall beech trees, standing between its great spreading roots. It had been badly scorched and nearly destroyed by the Orcs, but I had spent the past three years carefully tending it and pouring my healing powers into the tree, trying by sheer force of will to coax it back to health.

Gimli followed my movements, but held his tongue as I tried to word my thoughts.

"Beneath this very tree," I finally told the dwarf, unashamed of the tears I knew he would hear in my voice, "She and I once stopped on our march into that terrible place. We snuck away nearly every night of that march, and walked beneath the trees of this forest, simply talking, as well as loving each other. But beneath this very tree, she gave to me such trust, and smiled at me with unparalleled happiness as she looked up at me and told me she loved me. She was not given to voicing those words often, though I know she felt them, and my heart carefully marked each time she voiced those precious words. And beneath this tree, she let a piece of her tortured past slip away, and gave her trust and herself to me as she never had before."

Gimli stepped closer beside me, and I felt his strong hand on my arm, offering me his silent support as I gathered myself.

"When I am away from the cacophony of the colony, my heart can better hear her voice and recall her smile and her touch. When I am alone under these trees, I can still feel her—" I lightly touched the center of my chest, "—here. As though her fëa yet exists and a piece still dwells within my own," I told my friend.

"Ye don'na think she's yet alive, do you, Lad?" Gimli asked, the incredulity evident in his expression and voice.

I turned away again.

"Lad, we looked for days for the Lass's body. Long after the army retreated those lands did you an' I walk them lookin' for sign of the Lass. All we found were her weapons, pack, an' cloak. You can'na think she still walks these lands an' has been for these past years, do you, Legolas?"

"What happened to her body, Gimli?" I angrily returned, turning to face him. "I should have had her body at the least to burry and to mourn over."

"I can'na say," Gimli admitted. "The Lass was'na from our world, Lad, perhaps it is the way of her people not to leave bodies behind."

I looked away, my anger quickly deflated.

"Do you really believe the Lass could yet live an' hadn'a found ye yet?"

"No," I grudgingly admitted. "I do not yet believe that she lives." But the words tasted of bitter ash to pass my lips.

"I know ye wish to be close to the Lass's memory. I kin understand that better than the others," Gimli said. "But don'na shut your friends out, Lad. Let us be of help to ye. An' don'na be workin' yourself quite so hard. Even this dwarf kin see the shadows under yer eyes an' the weight you've lost. It's not healthy."

My eyes pressed shut at the admonishing. "I know, my friend. I know."

We stood silently by the stream for some time, and how I wished that water could wash away the burning ache in my heart and ease my grief.

But I knew not even time would wash away the trails and valleys of grief etched in my fëa.

* * *

For several hours, Gimli and I worked silently side by side to tend the saplings, the dwarf even helping to plant a few.

"Never heard of before," he grumbled as we finished and went to wash the soil from our hands. "A dwarf up to his elbows in dirt, an' not lookin' for no gems, but plantin' a tree. Ha! Thank Aulë there be none of my kin to see."

I chuckled as we knelt by the water. "Perhaps you shall find such work to your liking and plant gardens at Aglarond."

"Not likely," the dwarf darkly laughed. "I'll leave such pursuits to you elves an' any others with such fondness for growing things."

He said something else, but my ears pricked at hearing a noise coming from beyond the other bank of the stream. Stepping lightly, I turned and lifted my bow, nocking an arrow as I considered how an Orc could have somehow slipped past the sentries into the forest. Gimli followed me and hefted his axe as well.

But my hold on the arrow eased as I felt a tingling, almost burning sensation in my chest, causing me to rub at the sensation.

"Lad?"

But I ignored Gimli and focused on the sensation, feeling a sense of confusion suddenly emanate from it. It added to my own, yet I knew it was not mine.

"Elaina."

The word fell in a desperate plea from my lips, and when I looked up across the stream, I saw a woman step lightly from the cover of the trees, her drawn features staring curiously at the rushing water. She was dressed in the clothes I had last seen her in, yet they were clean and unmarked, and her hair was loose and unfettered, but her visage somehow slightly different from the one that had been seared into my heart and mind. How often had my dreams portrayed this breathtaking figure? And how often had I woken and had the dream so cruelly torn away?

"Elaina?" I repeated in a choked appeal, and the tantalizing illusion looked up, clearly startled by my presence, and turning to stare across the distance at us.

"By Aulë!" Gimli gasped. And I knew then that Elaina was not another tantalizing dream, even if my mind still could not comprehend the entirety of this possibility.

My bow and arrow fell heedlessly from my fingertips as I jumped into the stream, carelessly wading and splashing through the thigh-deep icy water to reach her, and praying the image would not fade before I could reach it.

But as I got within a few feet of her, her stare suddenly broke and she jumped nervously back, her eyes darting about as her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, her muscles tight and quivering in fear. Tears welled in my eyes to see her shaking so. What had happened to the fierce maiden who had broken my nose and quipped astonishing threats at me upon our first unexpected meeting, regardless of her terror for my likeness to her feared kin?

I forced myself to stop and give her space. "Elaina," I called softly again, the name I'd been loath to even think now falling happily from my lips, despite her changed and frightened manner.

Her brows drew together. "No one ever calls me that."

My heart clenched, but I forged on. "Ever have I called you thus. Do you not recall me? I am your husband, Legolas."

"Legolas," she repeated, seeming to slowly taste the word, my name coming out in that familiar accent she had always flavored it with. Her gaze suddenly softened as she nodded once. "Yes. I remember."

I stepped forward again, only for her to mirror the action by stepping back, fear returning to her eyes as they darted about nervously for an escape.

"I would never harm you," I whispered, my heart tearing to see such wild fear in her eyes. What had happened to my love? Had my fierce warrior maiden finally been broken, and how had so astonishing a thought occurred?

She drew a deep breath and seemed to steady herself. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't," she whispered. And as I waited, she bravely stepped closer and lightly placed her hand on my chest. "Legolas," she whispered, that once again familiar accent lilting in her voice.

My eyes closed at the wonderful sensation of her touch—even just her hand—and soon I felt her arms around my waist and her head press against my chest as she embraced me.

I wished to crush her there into the safety of my body, but forced my arms to only loosely encircle her, careful that she would not feel trapped.

"Am I dreaming?" I whispered against her hair as I smoothed my hand down its silky length.

"If this is a dream, I hope I don't wake up from it again," she whispered back, like me, seeming afraid to lift her voice and shatter this moment, whether it was dream or reality.

"Where have you been?" I whispered once more against her hair, breathing in the intoxicatingly familiar and fresh scent of her. I could have been content to merely hold her for all time, but I yet yearned for answers.

"My world," she answered in a breathless whisper.

"How?"

She shook her head, the loose waves of her red curls dancing across my arm at her back. "Please," she begged, "can we just stand here a little longer? I'm so afraid this will become another dream, and you'll vanish again."

My arms tightened involuntarily around her at the utterly broken and lost emotion in her cadence, but she was unafraid of my movement and tightened her own arms, readily sinking into my body.

I felt tears soak through my tunic, though she gave no physical sign of shedding them, and I knew my own were wetting her glossy hair.

"Is that really you, Lassie?" Gimli drew out in a quiet voice, and we both turned to see that Gimli had wadded across the stream as well, the water reaching so high on him, that most of his beard was sodden with water.

As I watched Elaina's face, I witnessed her warily assessing him before visible steeling herself once more and holding a hand out to the dwarf as she answered, "Yeah, it's really me."

Gimli eagerly took her hand and then stepped forward to wrap his strong arms around her torso, crushing her in his own embrace. Our friend could not see, but I witnessed her face fall into panic as she stopped breathing, her eyes frantically darting about once more.

I pressed my hand to her cheek. "You are safe, Elaina-love. You are safe here."

She began breathing at my words and jerked her head once in a nod, awkwardly returning Gimli's hug.

The dwarf stepped away when he sensed her discomfort. "By Aulë, Lass, how is such a thing possible?" Tears ran steadily down his cheeks to disappear into the reddish whiskers of his beard.

"They sent me back because I couldn't die here. I had to die where I was born. They said I couldn't die here. They sent me back to that place, and I—I thought it had all been a cruel dream when I woke up in that cave again, and then I just gave up."

"'They?'" I repeated, her words making little sense. "Who? And to what cave?" Though I had a sinking feeling I knew the place she spoke of with such fear.

"Mandos and Vairë. They kept telling me that I couldn't die here, I wasn't supposed to be here, then they finally sent me back, and I thought that was the end. I thought it was the end of the story. But it wasn't. There was more to the story."

I pushed back to look down at her at the mention of those great Valar, pushing away the rest of her story and grasping what I could comprehend. "They spoke to you?"

"Yeah, kept waltzing in and out of my dreams. And when I woke up back in that prison again, I thought it had all been a tortuous dream. Like the ones I used to have, the ones where I'd never really escaped North Korea and had been there all along. And it took a long time, but I finally remembered that being here had been real." She chuckled a dark laugh. "Though I had a little help remembering."

"How?" I pressed, still trying to piece together her strange words and inconceivable story.

And she pulled the necklace Galadriel had once given her from her tunic displaying it on her open palm. "She said it would help me remember. I wore it for a long time after I was returned to my world before I even realized it was still there." She looked away. "And by then I almost didn't want to remember, even the good things." She shrugged as though it did not matter, but the stiffness in her shoulders belied her. "In the end, it didn't matter, and I finally died," she continued.

"Died? I do not understand. How long were you in that place?"

She kept her eyes averted, refusing to meet my gaze. "How much time has passed here?"

"More than three years, Lass," Gimli quickly answered.

Her head again jerked in a nod. "Sounds about right," she whispered.

I pulled her back into my arms, ignoring how stiff she initially was as the knowledge of how long she had suffered sank in. Indeed, it had been longer than her initial torture in that place. Her reactions were now made painfully clear to me, even if much of what she had said was still not.

"It matters not," I whispered aloud. "You are back where you belong."

She finally relaxed against me. "Yes. That's right," she whispered, such relief in her voice. "And They said I could stay this time. For good. I won't be sent back again. I passed Their tests and earned my chance to be here for good."

I leaned back to look at her questioningly. "Test? I do not understand your words."

"They sent me back to that place to prove my worth I guess, though They said that since time was fluid, They didn't know when and where They were sending me back. And I don't know if it was the Valar or who, but after I died, a voice gave me the choice to be reborn here or let my spirit rest, saying I'd earned my choice. But I needed to see you again. I needed to know it hadn't been a dream, so the voice said I could be reborn here and that I could sail with you to Valinor, or if I died, I would meet you there."

My arms crushed her once more to my chest, prayers of thanks in Silvin and Sindarin to the Valar rushing from my lips.

"We shall not be parted again," I gratefully whispered as the realization struck me. "How were you granted passage into the Undying Lands?"

She shrugged, looking down as she nervously fingered the cloth of my tunic. "The voice said I was granted passage because I had no other home. It said even the Valar were sympathetic to those who had no other place to go. And because my spirit, or I guess my fëa would never be at peace without yours, and you would never find peace in Valinor without mine. Because they were bound.

As I pulled back, I finally saw what I had noted was different in her appearance. "Not a scar marks your skin," I said in wonder, tracing the visible and starkly clear skin of her collarbone where a white scar had once laid.

"No, no scars. They offered to take the memories, too, but it was all or nothing, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing the memory of you. Even if you turned out to really be only a dream. And if you weren't, it didn't seem fair for you to be married to a woman who didn't know who you were."

I held her close and continued my prayers to the Valar, willing to offer them anything for this unexpected grace.

"Aragorn will never believe this," Gimli suddenly laughed. "I can'na wait to tell him. An' the hobbits as well. They'll be delighted to hear."

Elaina tensed again. "Maybe we can wait a bit to make a big announcement. I'm just not ready to face a bunch of people."

Eagerly I nodded, thinking I selfishly desired time alone with my love anyway. "It can wait until you are ready to face them. It can all wait. We have much time to reconnect with them."

My heart nearly burst with that revelation. Indeed, we would now have time for all those things, with the assurances of the Valar that she would sail with me or await me in Valinor. And in the interim, we could reconnect with friends I had neglected in her absence.

Never had I dreamed the Valar would grant me so much.

* * *

None could say that in the years to come that our lives were perfect or easy, but Elaina and I had never had such foolish thoughts or promises between us.

Her absence from my life had greatly affected and changed her. The time she spent returned to her own world marking her fëa more deeply than her first experiences in that place had. It was years before a carefree smile returned to her lips, and years more before her tense and startled reactions abated. But her nightmares lingered on well beyond much of her other healing. The emotional scarring coursing deeply through her fëa.

Many times, I asked about her absent years, but rarely would she come to speak of her return to her world. Yet, she did eventually come to not dwell so often upon that time. She was forever marked by that period, and never again as she once had been, instead graver at times than before, but in time her mind had mostly healed, and I thanked the Valar for every smile to grace her lips.

Our rows and quarrels were not often, but they were indeed as great as Elaina has once predicted. Yet ever we resolved them together and achieved our moments of happiness again.

Happiness was not ours to ever hold for all time, but we lived on in happiness from that day, until this.

* * *

**A/N: **To be honest, the other story arc ending will always end where I left it. That's just the way that ending is meant to be.

But I do have two or three one-shots planned for Lane after this story arc ending, and perhaps even a sequel, but you guys will have to let me know if you're interested in reading a sequel. There's a poll in my bio page, so please go there and let me know if you're interested in reading more or if you think this story arc has ended where it was meant to as well.

Thanks again a million times over for all your wonderful reviews, encouragements, and kind words. I've been blown away by the response this story received (I don't think any other fanfics I've written in other fandoms have ever so consistently gotten these kinds of long reviews that you guys bless me with) and this trilogy really has been a blast to write. I do feel like I've learned a lot, too, so I hope to take my new knowledge to my original works and one day soon finish them and get them published. You've all been wonderful in helping to teach me what you do and don't enjoy as readers. Thank again for letting me practice on you, lol!


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